


A Solved Case

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Study in Pink, Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, New Flatmates, PTSD John, Seduction, negotiation, sherlock tries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1953273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An adrenaline rush strikes after a risky case, but with a new flatmate, Sherlock can't release it in his normal way. After some wine and talk, perhaps they've found a happy compromise -- but how long before things get too complicated?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock's Ritual Is Disrupted

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock fumbled slightly with the key to the flat; perhaps he had drunk a little more than he had intended to. He supposed it was still the newness of John -- they obviously had a connection, John's saving him clearly proved that, but he was still new and Sherlock wanted to be more comfortable with him. Sherlock was not easy to interact with: he was aware of that, everyone was aware of that. Being around another person was not Sherlock's usual just-solved-a-case ritual. An extra glass or two of wine made it easier to relax, to adapt to this new change.

The noise on the stairs made Mrs Hudson come out. "Did you solve it, Sherlock?"

"I did," he said, grinning his overly-pleased-with-himself smile. When John came up next to him, he added, "With John's help, of course."

Mrs Hudson smiled at them both as they made their way upstairs.

"I'll see you in the morning," Sherlock said to John. He turned towards his bedroom.

"Morning, yes," John nodded, reminding himself that he didn't have to leave. He lived here. This flat was his home now, and that strange and handsome man was his flatmate. Handsome? He furrowed his brows at himself and then shrugged. He could admit when he saw a good looking guy -- nothing wrong with that. In his room he unpacked his clothes and got into pajamas, flopping down on the bed. It was comfortable, better than the one at his old bedsit. As he settled in he thought about the night, trying to focus on Sherlock's part of it all instead of the fact that he killed a man. He closed his eyes and simply watched it all again, wondering what exactly he had gotten himself into with this man. 

Sherlock shut himself into his room. He laid down on his bed and tried to breathe deeply. He felt his usual urge -- there was nothing better than an orgasm to celebrate the solving of a case -- but he felt anxious with John in the flat. He wasn't sure whether or not to do it. He rested his hand on his belly and took a deep breath. But it wasn't helping. Then he realised the solution -- he could get away with it in the shower. He stepped outside of his room and said, "John?" He wanted to test how much John could hear from up in his room.

John opened his eyes and looked towards the door. He wondered if Sherlock wanted him to leave, and he debated getting dressed before sticking his head out of his bedroom door. "What is it?" He tied his dressing gown and walked downstairs.

Dammit, Sherlock thought. "Oh nothing, sorry -- did I wake you? Go on back to bed. I think I'll have a shower," he said. Please go back to bed, he thought, I _need_ to have a shower.

"No, I wasn't sleeping. I'm a bit worked up from everything that happened, and I was thinking of having a bit more wine. Want to join me? It's a bit late for a shower," John said, grabbing his arm without waiting for an answer and pulling him lightly to the kitchen.

Sherlock wanted to pout, but this was a bit early in their relationship to go into full pout mode. What was worse was that John's grabbing his arm seemed to send an electricity straight to his cock -- was he really so unused to human contact that one touch did that? No, it couldn't be that; it was just his usual need flaring up. He'd have to get this under control if John was going to be living here.

"Fine," he said, "there's a bottle over the fridge." He rushed to sit down on the sofa so he could get himself settled. He took some deep breaths and tried to remember what it was like at school -- having to wait until his roommate left before he could have a wank. He managed then; he could do so now.

John got the wine and brought it to the coffee table along with two glasses. He smiled at Sherlock as he poured some out for both of them. "We had quite a night tonight," he said. "Well, you did, really . . ."

"I hardly think mine was more exciting than yours," Sherlock said. "You're the one who killed a man." It was true actually, Sherlock thought, it had all been down to John -- what had Sherlock actually solved at all? He wondered if John felt the same rush as he did. He thought perhaps he did. "That must have felt . . . how did you feel about that?" he asked, remembering John's smile.

John took a sip of wine and thought about that. At the time, he hadn't thought about it at all. Sherlock was in trouble and he had to act fast. Leaving the building he felt worried since he had just killed a man, but once outside again he felt a lovely rush of adrenaline. It had been a nice adventure and, if he was being honest, it had excited him quite a bit. It had been a long time since he'd felt a rush like that. John remembered suddenly that Sherlock had asked him a question. "I . . . didn't feel anything, really. It had to be done, you know? Someone has got to protect you," he smiled.

John was obviously lying. He had felt something and it was the same rush that Sherlock had felt, Sherlock saw it all over his face then and now. This was a good sign, though it wasn't helping Sherlock's pulse slow at all. He took another drink of wine. "Is that what you see as your role here -- protecting me?" he asked.

"Role?" John grinned. He settled back more comfortably and took a big sip of wine. "I'm just your flatmate -- well, I thought. Because now it seems I am also your doctor. And your friend, I suppose." John leaned a bit too close to him and tapped their glasses together before taking another sip.

"Interesting. I suppose I'm still adjusting to the flatmate part, I'm not sure I'll be very good at the friend aspect. And I don't think you'll need to worrying too much about my health, Dr Watson, I take perfectly good care of myself," he said. He leaned back on the sofa and put his feet up on the table.

"Well, I will settle for friend. And your knight in shining armour," he grinned. He was feeling the effects of the wine, a bit lightheaded and happy. "That woman at the first crime scene that said you get off on solving crimes, is that why you're unattached?" Drunk John didn't seem to have a filter. He emptied his glass and waited for an answer.

"First of all, I don't suggest listening to anything that woman says. I enjoy solving things, yes, I like to turn all of my attention to a case when I'm working on it. Regardless, I'm not very interested in relationships -- they seem like more trouble than they're worth. I just don't see a reasonable pay off for the investment, if you see what I mean," Sherlock said. He shifted, pulling his legs up towards him. He really hadn't been expecting any questions about 'getting off'.

"They're not so much work if you're with someone good -- someone you like," John said, pouring both of them more wine.

"Surely, you must know by now I can tell when you're lying," Sherlock said, picking up his glass, "if relationships were so great you'd be in one, but you're not -- instead you're killing people on a stranger's behalf." Sherlock knew he didn't need a relationship: the cases kept him busy and entranced and the resolutions came with such satisfaction -- even a physical one, normally -- that he was perfectly content as he was.

Yet John's being here wasn't really 'as he was' -- it was different and he'd have to work around that somehow. Tonight, obviously, John's being here had been an advantage -- no, better than just an advantage, a life saver though Sherlock would never admit that aloud. He looked over at John, whose face had gone a bit pink from drink, and wondered what other benefits his being here might have.

"I've been a bit busy trying to get my life together. You think I have time for dates when I am in the position of having to move in with a stranger?" John asked. "And according to that man, we had a date tonight," he continued, taking another large sip of wine.

"His name is Angelo, not 'that man' and her name is Donovan, not 'that woman'. You know if this is the way you usually attempt to charm your dates, you really should get your details right," Sherlock said. John really seemed a little obsessed with his not being Sherlock's date at the restaurant. He had filed that information away, but he hadn't thought he'd need it so soon. Was John interested in him in that way?

"If you were any good at introductions, I would know those things," John said. But honestly he couldn't even remember if Sherlock had introduced these people or not. Perhaps he should stop drinking now . . . well, after he finished this glass. He took another large swallow, finishing it. He put it down on the table with extra care and pushed it with his finger a bit before settling back against the sofa. He turned his head and looked over at Sherlock. Yes. Very handsome indeed.

"Why should I be in charge of introductions? See -- there's the heart of it right there -- you shouldn't rely on others. When I'm left to my own devices, I get all my needs met," Sherlock took another drink of wine and then looked at John. "You're looking at me strangely. Are you looking at me strangely?" He set his glass down next to John's.

"You're the one that knows those people!" John grinned. "It's your responsibility. I am not psychic." John didn't answer his last question, still gazing at him. "And meeting your own needs seems a bit lonely," he added.

"I wouldn't say lonely," Sherlock said. "There are great advantages to looking after oneself," he added, standing up. "Now, I'm off -- after a case I like to do . . . a little debriefing. Since I don't want to disturb you, I'll go to my room." His head spun a little from standing up so quickly after the wine.

"Oh! You keep records?" John asked, standing up as well. "Do it in here -- I want to write about the case on my blog and we can help each other out," he smiled.

Sherlock walked over to his chair and sat down there instead. He picked up his laptop and pretended to look at it, while instead he looked over at John. Why was he insisting on Sherlock staying in this room with him? Did he have an idea what Sherlock was actually going to be doing -- is that why he was asking about relationships and loneliness? John had helped him solve the case -- is this part of the deal, he gets to control what Sherlock does after a case? John had now opened his laptop and moved to the chair opposite Sherlock, who was watching his every more. How clever did John think he was?


	2. Sherlock Investigates

"Do you mind if I ask a few questions?" Sherlock asked, "just to get a sense of what went on once I'd left. When did you realise I had gone with the killer?"

"I saw you get into the cab and I thought you were running because of the drug thing," John said. "When I refreshed the screen and saw the phone location was moving after just having been at our flat, I just figured you were with him." He pulled open his own blog and started typing.

"And when you realised this, what did you feel? Did it arouse your curiosity . . . concern . . . or what?"

John looked up at him. "I was worried! You had just gone off with a murderer -- of course, I thought it was unknowingly. When I saw you about to eat the damn pill, I got angry. Don't do that."

"I told you I wasn't going to take it, John, relax. But let's go back to your feelings. When you saw me through the window, you say you felt angry. Any other feelings?" Sherlock acted like he was taking notes, but he wasn't.

John's brow furrowed. "What kind of notes are you keeping anyways?" His brain felt sluggish from the wine. "I felt . . . panicked, I guess. I needed to act," he admitted without waiting for Sherlock to answer his question. 

"Interesting. And now -- what are you feeling now?" Sherlock asked.

"Drunk," John laughed softly. "Not a lot. Just a bit tipsy, you know?"

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Having not seen you in this state before, what other feelings tend to come along with that -- warmth? sensitivity? lack of inhibition?" Sherlock asked, looking down.

John grinned. "Yes," he said to all three. "I don't think before I speak . . .but I am not that drunk yet."

"Earlier I asked you how you were feeling when you shot the cabbie and you lied and said you felt nothing. Would you answer the question honestly now, please?"

John hesitated. "I felt excited. I got an adrenaline rush," he said. 

"Thank you for your honesty," Sherlock said. "And this rush you got, it's completely dissipated by now? Now, you no longer feel excited in any way?"

"I wouldn't say that," he shrugged. 

"Do you find that you need to release this adreneline high in some way? Is that why you've got drunk tonight -- to release it?" Sherlock asked, trying to choose his words carefully.

"That kind of happened by accident," John said. "But yeah, it would be nice to release it. Instead of just waiting for it to go away. It's a bit maddening."

"It is, isn't it?" Sherlock said. "You and I seem to be somewhat similar in this respect. I'd never admit to agreeing with Donovan, but she is right -- the rush I feel when I solve something does appear to have a sexual component to it." He decided to let that hang there for a moment to see what John made of it.

John grinned in sudden understanding. "Does your 'debriefing' include literally debriefing?"

Sherlock couldn't help but let his mouth curve into a small smile. "Generally," he admitted. What would be the use of lying? "Of course, I am usually on my own and as I said, I meet all my needs. However, this is fine, us talking is fine. I can wait obviously."

John shrugged and met his eyes. "Why wait?" he asked softly. 

"Because for some reason, this feels more interesting at the moment," Sherlock set his laptop aside and slinked off his chair. He got his glass and finished what was left and poured just a little more into it as well as into John's. He carried them both over and set John's on the table. Sherlock moved behind John's chair and bent down, looking over his shoulder. "And this is your blog then?"

John nodded, leaning back a bit so Sherlock could see better. "It's boring right now," he said quietly. He turned his head a bit and took a deep breath. He smiled and drank the small bit of wine Sherlock brought him in one swallow. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, just a bit, almost resting his forehead on Sherlock's temple before before catching himself and leaning away again. 

"And you plan to write up our cases then?" Sherlock said. "Will you be writing about what happens after we solve them? I don't think it'd be wise to mention seeing Mycroft. You'd best leave Mycroft off totally. But the Chinese? Will you mention that? Or the wine?" Sherlock said, pouring the remainder into John's glass.

"No," John hummed softly, bringing the glass close to his face and looking at the wine as if he'd never seen it before. "Just . . . just the -- are you trying to get me drunk?" he asked, turning his head to look at Sherlock.

"You already are drunk. You said so yourself. I'm just trying to understand what you're doing with this blog. The touching? Will you be writing about the touching? You've touched me a number of times this evening. Will that be going on to the blog?" Sherlock said, moving to the kitchen to open another bottle of wine. 

John swallowed down his wine in two gulps. "I am drunk," he chuckled. "And what touching, exactly?"

"Are you going to be writing about the touching is what I was asking," Sherlock said, bringing the bottle and himself back in. He sat down on his chair again.

"There hasn't been any touching," John said. "Unless you mean your debriefing," he grinned. 

"Well, obviously there's been none of that. But I need to know if you're going to be writing about that sort of stuff on the blog," Sherlock said. He crossed his legs and leaned back a bit in his chair as he took another drink.

"No, I won't be writing any of that on the blog. Just cases," he said. He knew he shouldn't drink anymore, but the glass was full again and in his hand and he took a sip for something to do.  

"All right then," Sherlock said. "I'd just like to know which things between us are public and which things are private."

John met his gaze. "You think touching and debriefing will be happening between us?"

"I've not said that exactly. First of all, touching has already taken place -- we've established that. The information about the debriefing . . . that's private information. Not for your public. I suppose that's all I'm saying," Sherlock said, looking at John. He uncrossed and recrossed his legs before lifting the glass to his lips. "Disappointed?" he said into the wine.

"Disappointed I can't write about it? No," John said, draining his glass. "Disappointed I won't be participating in it? Maybe . . . " This was it now. He had no idea why he had said that.  

"But you're my blogger, right? The information I share with you should improve your understanding of the case. My debriefing doesn't clarify the case . . . it celebrates it. So in what way would it benefit you to be a part of it?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "Adrenaline release," he said quietly. 

"From my debriefing or your own?" Sherlock asked.

"Mine. Both," he shrugged again, looking up at Sherlock. 

"Is that what you were doing before you came down?" Sherlock asked.

"I was just going to sleep it off," he said.

"You don't find it difficult, without the release, I mean? It keeps me from concentrating, I think," Sherlock said. "And besides, it's the pay off -- why not enjoy?"

"I masturbate enough," John said, dropping the code word. "It's been a while, sure. But I never thought of releasing adrenaline like that." 

"I have a feeling that's a lie but not an intentional one.," Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow. "My guess is your most satisfying sexual encounters have been the unexpected ones -- the surprise itself produced a bit of anxiety and therefore your orgasm functioned as a release. There's no shame in that, John. Next time you need a release, try it."

John nodded. "A surprise is very . . . fun. Sexy," he smiled. "Can't really surprise myself, though. That seems silly."

"Are you saying you had been planning to kill that man before you did it? I think you surprised yourself tonight. You surprised me. And that's why we both feel the need to release," Sherlock took another drink. "If you'd like to end our talk and go up to your room now, I'll understand."

John finished his drink and stood up. "If you want to get rid of me to do your . . . release, you only have to ask," he said, putting his glass down again slowly in his attempt not to drop it. 

"That's not what I was saying. I know I can leave this room any time I'd like. I was only thinking of you," Sherlock said.

"I will be fine," John said. "Have fun." He started for the stairs but it was slow work, each foot coming down very deliberately as he tried not to stumble. He plopped down on the sofa and took a deep breath, leaning back against it. He would try again in a few minutes.  

Sherlock completely ignored John's attempt to leave. "And would that bother you . . . my thinking of you?"

John looked over again and tilted his head. "Would you really?" he asked, feeling his cheeks flush. 

"Well, I'm just saying it could happen -- I like to think about the case and its resolution and obviously you played a key role in that. Should I not do that?" Sherlock asked. He stood up, picked up the wine bottle and glasses and moved to the sofa.

John turned to look at him and shrugged. "You can. I can't stop you," he said. "Does that mean I should think of you?"

"You should think of what ever you want. What do you normally think of?"

"Girls," he admitted easily. "Do you think about solving cases every time?"

"No," Sherlock said. "You should think of whatever you need to. Don't feel compelled to think of me, just because you may be making an appearance in my mind."

"All right," John said, making to get up again. He felt very light but very slow at the same time. 

"Do you need help, John?"

"No," he said, scooting to the edge of the sofa first. 

"I don't mean with standing up," Sherlock said, taking a drink.


	3. Sherlock Seduces

John stopped trying to get up and he looked over at Sherlock, smiling slowly. "You're not serious?"

"I'm just trying to be helpful. You helped me this evening, I thought I should offer the same in return," Sherlock said.

"I saved your life so you're going to get me off?" John asked, raising his brows. 

"Seems a fair exchange," Sherlock said. "But if I'm not needed, that's fine. In fact, don't bother trying to go upstairs since you are obviously incapable of doing so. I'll go into my room and shut the door. You needn't worry about my hearing you -- I'll be otherwise occupied." He rubbed his hands down his thighs as he moved to get up.

John watched his hands and bit his lip lightly. "You have lovely hands." It was about two seconds before he realised he'd said that out loud. He stood up quickly, but his head swam and he sank back down. "Oh God," he mumbled.

"I do," Sherlock said. "They do exactly what is needed of them." He kept his hands on his thighs, knowing John was still looking at them.

John reached over and touched the top of his hand, very lightly with just two fingers. "Do they?" he mumbled. 

"Yes, they do," Sherlock said. "They've never let me down." He leaned forward, grabbing his glass and finishing off the last of his wine. "Well, I'll leave you to it," he stood up and turned to look at John, "My door will be shut, but I don't think I'll lock it." 

"Don't go," John said, reaching out for his hand as he passed in front of John. 

Sherlock sat back down. "Now what, John?"

"You said you would help -- you're not being very nice, Sherlock," John murmured. 

"I have a feeling I'm behaving precisely as you'd like me to," Sherlock said. "What's under your dressing gown?"

"My pajamas," John pulled the tie to reveal his plain t-shirt and the top of his pajama pants. 

"Perhaps you should take off your dressing gown," Sherlock said, "and lie back on the sofa."

John slid it off and then laid back flat as he dropped it onto the floor. 

Sherlock pulled his legs up and crawled over top of John on the sofa. He kept his body away from John's and leaned his head in, brushing his lips past John's cheek before speaking into his ear. "When you figured it out, when you got in the cab, when you were running through the building, when you saw me through the window, John, how did that make you feel?"

"Excited," John admitted. "Useful . . . not broken," he murmured. 

Without moving any other part of his body, Sherlock slipped his hand inside John's pajamas and curled his fingers around John's cock. "Keep your hands by your side, John, let mine do everything. You are far from broken, John Watson, and you're extremely useful. What would I have done without you tonight? You must have known that as you stood there, watching me. You must have known that you would save that day. That must have felt good, John. Did it?"

John nodded, his hips bucking lightly into Sherlock's hand. "Felt so good . . . like being a hero again," he said. He brought his hands up to Sherlock's sides instead, holding them lightly. 

"Hands on the sofa, John," Sherlock said as he tightened his fingers around John's now hard cock and began a slow, steady stroke. "And then you took your shot and it was spot on. You didn't hesitate. I bet it's been a while since you did that, but your aim was perfect, just like you knew it'd be," Sherlock's voice was husky in John's ear as his hand began to move faster on John's cock. "And then came the most beautiful part of all -- you disappeared. For awhile you knew what had happened, but I didn't. I'm so clever but for a short time, you were more clever than me. I bet that felt good, didn't it?"

John pouted and dropped his hands, his entire focus on what Sherlock was saying. He nodded as he started to pant softly. "I tricked you," he mumbled. "You didn't know at first . . ."

"You were very clever, John. I could see it in your face, I could see it in the way you moved. It made you feel good. Are you hoping to get that feeling again, John, do you hope you and I have more cases and you can be a hero and clever and get that rush again, that rush that starts in your belly and takes over your whole body until it's so tense you feel like you'll explode?" His hand moved fast on John's cock, and he dropped his head for a second to bite the skin on John's neck. He lifted his head back to John's ear and said, "Do you want to have that feeling with me again, John?"

John nodded. "Yes . . . please, yes . . .," he moaned. But whether it was to the questions or the hot, flooding feeling in his belly he didn't know. He tried bringing his hands up again to hold Sherlock. 

"Hands down, John. You seem to be having trouble controlling your body, does this mean you feel it right now? The tension, the urge, the rush that needs to be released? Why don't you release it, John? Let go, let go into my hand, my lovely hand that's doing exactly what you need right now." Sherlock's breath had sped up, and he was exhaling into John's ear.

John dropped his hands to the sofa just as he came, writhing and moaning Sherlock's name. The wave of pleasure pulsed through his whole body, head tilting back a bit. He felt even lighter and dizzier as he came down from that wonderful high. 

"Fuck, John," Sherlock said into his ear as he held John's cock through his orgasm. He waited until John's body stilled and then let go. He moved back and stood up from the sofa. "I don't expect us to do this after every case. I don't expect us to ever speak of it again if you'd rather not. Let's have a sleep on it and see how we feel tomorrow." He gave his body a little shake and said, "Good night, John Watson." 

"What about you?" John said, hurrying to sit up and block his path a bit. 

"I'm sorted," he said. "I told you my hands are very good. Sometimes they don't even need to touch."

"Oh," John said, a bit guilty and disappointed. "I could have helped," he said. 

"I can assure you, you did help, John," Sherlock said. "I get off on cleverness and tonight, John, you were very clever." He turned towards John and held out his hand. "Here, let me help you up. You look a bit . . . spent. The stairs might be too much for you tonight. Perhaps you'd prefer to sleep in my room?"

John looked across the room at the stairs as if they were across town. He sighed. "I can make it up there," he nodded. He stood up and headed for the stairs, moving a bit easier now, the orgasm having cleared his head a bit. 

"If you're sure," Sherlock said. "I'll keep my door unlocked in case you change your mind."

John nodded. He hoped he would remember this in the morning. He felt embarrassed by how much he'd had to drink and he knew waking up next to Sherlock, especially if he ended up not remembering, was not going to go very well. 

Sherlock left the glasses on the table and went into the bathroom. He took off his clothes, cleaned himself with a damp washcloth and then slipped into his bedroom. He turned off the lamp and lay there for a bit. He reached over for his phone. 

_Even if we never do it again, I won't regret it. Thank you for an extremely interesting evening. SH_

John finally made it up the stairs, feeling his come starting to dry. He wished he had remembered to stop into the bathroom first but now he was so tired. He slipped all of his clothes off and got into bed.

Sherlock rolled over in his bed, closing his eyes.


	4. The Next Morning

John had fallen asleep almost immediately. It was a heavy, peaceful sleep without nightmares or anything. It had been such a long time since he had slept with no nightmares that his body took advantage of it, keeping him knocked out well through the next morning. When he woke up the first thing he felt was the mess, dried and pulling at his skin as he shifted and stretched. He tried to remember his dream -- to remember what had caused this when suddenly the night before came flooding into his mind. 

The rush of not only catching the murderer but killing him, drinking with Sherlock, talking about -- no. He had a flash in his mind of Sherlock getting him off but surely . . . was the mess all over him from that? Was that his own or Sherlock's? Maybe it had been a dream that made him come while he was sleeping. That sometimes happened. He grabbed his phone to check the time and saw Sherlock's text. He bit his lip. Not a dream. What did this mean then? What exactly happened last night? Were they dating now? Did Sherlock remember? Were they going to talk about it? 

He put the phone down and decided to stay in bed for a while longer until he could figure out how he felt about it all and if he was going to bring it up or not. Did Sherlock know he'd never done anything with a man? How much had they done? Did he want to forget it or did he want to bring it up later? How would he bring something like that up? It was going to take a while. 

When Sherlock woke up, he stretched in his bed. He felt good. He always felt good the day after he solved a case. It would take him a few hours to come down off the high and then he'd be bored again. He thought about last night and tried to stop breathing for a second to listen. He didn't hear John moving about the flat so he figured he must have slept in. Fair enough after all that wine. Sherlock stretched once more and got out of bed. He moved to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

John heard the movement and sat up, but then he hesitated. He was still filthy, and he still needed to think. Instead of going downstairs right away he took his robe and a towel to the bathroom for a long shower, trying to work out his thoughts in there. After thinking through every scenario, he realised that he couldn't actually decide anything until he saw Sherlock, until he saw what Sherlock was going to think about it all. If he even remembered. John went back to his room and changed, taking a couple more deep breaths before finally going downstairs.  

Sherlock tidied the sitting room, washing the glasses and binning the empty bottle. He poured two cups of tea when he heard John in the shower. When John came down, he carried a mug over to him. "I can tell by your face that, while you haven't completely deleted everything that happened last night, you don't remember all of it. We can talk about it or we can just leave it. It's up to you," he said as he moved to his desk and took a sip of tea.

John took a long sip of tea and licked his lips. "Do . . . do you remember everything?"

"Yes."

John felt his face flush and really wished he hadn't had so much wine. He drank even more tea and looked over at him. "Will you tell me what happened?" 

"It's nothing to be alarmed by, John. Just talking and drinking and then a bit of wanking on the sofa. That's it," Sherlock said, looking down at his tea.

"I remember the wanking," John said quietly. "I . . you were . . . I've just never been attracted to a man before so I guess I just wonder how it got to that."

"Well, you wouldn't shut up about my hands . . . that's how it got to that. It's fine, John. You, we, we both were a bit drunk. I don't want you to have an identity crisis over it," Sherlock took another drink of tea and added, "It was good. You seemed to like it. I did. But we can just leave it, if you'd rather. I don't want to make your living here uncomfortable, I want you to stay. I might need you to shoot someone for me again." He looked up at John and smiled a bit.

John's eyes flicked over his hands and then settled on his own tea. He almost laughed because the identity crisis happened this morning already. But Sherlock didn't need to know that. "Is that what you want it to be?" John asked, not looking up from his tea. "Just . . . a little drunk thing we did?"  

"I'm not saying that," Sherlock said. "I don't know what I think about it. I suppose I'm not against doing it again." He fiddled with some papers on his desk. "But I wouldn't want wine to be an essential part of it. If we were to do it again -- and I'm not saying that we should feel obliged to -- but if it were to happen, it'd probably be nicer if you had a clearer memory of it. That said, if you'd prefer that we just leave it at that, I'd be willing to do so."

"I'm not going to deny that it felt good," John said. "You're very . . ." He trailed off with a small sigh. "Anyways, I know you don't do relationships and I . . .well, I'm still not sure how I feel about a relationship with a man." John was playing with the rim of his cup now, a bit nervous about his suggestion. He shrugged and looked up again.

"So you're saying we'd need to be in a 'relationship' for that to happen again?" Sherlock asked, not looking over at John. "I'm not judging anything -- I'm just trying to clarify."

"No," John shook his head. "What I am saying is . . . we could do it again maybe," he said, his cheeks flushing darker. 

"Is that what you're saying because that sounds quite different to the words you used a few minutes ago. We don't have to decide now, John. Maybe you should think a little more about it," Sherlock said. "That said, talking about it now has made me feel a bit . . . like having a wank. Perhaps it's still just the high from the end of the case."

John looked over at him again. He didn't know what to think. "What do you want to do about it?" he asked. 

"I suppose I should go into my room and do it," Sherlock said. "No reason not to." He finished his tea. "I would just like to say that when we first met and I listed my worst qualities as a flatmate, I did not include masturbation addict, because I am not one. This isn't something I do all the time. It's undoubtedly related to the case; it's really the only time I do it and generally it is a solo practice . . . and generally I don't announce it either, but given what we were talking about, I just thought I'd be honest. So if it's not a problem for you, I'll be off." He stood up from the chair and carried his mug to the kitchen.

John stood up as well. In the few seconds, it took Sherlock to walk into the kitchen John had imagined him sprawled on the bed, stroking his cock and writhing, perhaps saying John's name. And that was all it took. That small little stimulus had his cock stiffening slowly in his pants. "I'll go upstairs so you won't be . . . heard," he said, leaving his mug on the coffee table and heading for the stairs. 

"I don't care about being heard. I'm not noisy, as you know," Sherlock called, turning to look over towards John. "I'll shut the door. Though . . . I'm wondering, should I leave it unlocked?"

"Don't do that," John said, pausing at the stairs. "I offered clearly what we could do -- how we could help each other. You turned me down. Don't play games with me," he said, looking up at him. 

"I'm not playing games, John. I just didn't want you to get weirded out by what happened last night. Your mouth was saying one thing but your face this morning when I first looked at you, it didn't seem like you were so sure," Sherlock said honestly. "Look, I remember everything about last night and you don't. If you come into my room with me now, you'll see me . . . it'll be fair. But you don't have to." He turned and went into his room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

John watched him go. He hadn't seen anything last night. He hadn't even known Sherlock had come. But Sherlock had known, had watched John fall apart under his hand. He swallowed hard and went into Sherlock's room, shutting the door behind him. "I want to see you," John said. "I want to see you like you saw me last night," he said.

"Fair enough," Sherlock said. "You can sit there," he motioned to a chair, "or on the bed. Whatever. It's a little more awkward without the wine, but wherever you want to sit is fine." He sat down on his bed. He wondered how much of last night John actually remembered. He said, "Um, last night I kind of . . . helped by talking to you. Were you, uh, thinking of participating or just . . . observing?" He wasn't looking at John.

Sherlock was right. It was really awkward like this -- wine or no wine, he'd just barged into his room and demanded that he basically watch him get off. He was embarrassed about the night before and thought this was going to make it better. Stupid. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, moving back towards the door. "I -- just do what you need to." 

"John," Sherlock called. "I . . . want you to stay." Sherlock said this because he kind of did even though he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was so they would be equal in terms of what they'd revealed -- despite their both coming last night, John had certainly shown much more vulnerability. But also, in the few minutes since he'd had the idea of John coming into his room, he had found the idea . . . well, a bit sexy, which was strange and new and therefore may need some thinking about. But he could do that later. "Here," he said, moving to get under the covers. "Just get under here with me so it's less . . . less of a show. Just lie there on that side, just be there, and I'll do it and then you will have seen what I've seen and we can leave it at that. And you won't write about it on the blog." He smiled a bit at John.

John stopped at the door and looked over at him. "Okay," he said, moving over to his bed but somehow -- despite the reason he was there -- it felt too intimate to climb into his bed. "Can we go to the sofa again? We can . . . trade places. You lay down and I'll -- I'll get you off. Fair trade for last night," he smiled lightly.

"Um, all right, if that's how you want to do it," Sherlock said. "But last night I just helped," he lied, hoping John's memories were sufficiently vague, "so you can just help." His face flushed because he already knew that just having John there would be a help and he wasn't sure what that meant. He stood up and walked precariously into the sitting room, pulling his dressing gown around him so John wouldn't noticed he was already a bit hard. He just wanted to do this and stop talking about it.

When Sherlock lay down on the sofa, John put his knee between his shins, the other on the floor as he half straddled Sherlock's leg. He glanced up at Sherlock's face before looking down and palming him though his pajamas. Time had slowed down, and John had as well. His hand moved slow and purposely, mesmerized by the fact that he was touching a cock that was not his own -- touching it like this. 

Sherlock rested his head on the arm of the sofa. It felt good -- being touched. This was unusual so he sat up a little and slid his hand into his pajamas, holding his cock, feeling John's hand over his own. "Maybe you could . . . talk," Sherlock said into the air, not to John's face which was quite close to his.

"Let me," John said, gently pushing his hand away. He let go for a moment to tug his pants down to the middle of his thighs, stroking a bit faster, his grip harder. "How did you feel when . . . you got into that cab? When you knew who he was?"

"Afraid," which is not what Sherlock meant to say but was what Sherlock had felt.

John met his eyes, not having expected that answer. "What about after, when you were sitting in the back of the ambulance? How did you feel then?" He swiped his thumb over the tip and slowly spread the precome along his shaft. 

"Confused." What the fuck? thought Sherlock. This is not usually what was going on in his head during his post-case wank. Yet he was already aching to come, John's hand was more important this time.

John sighed softly. That wasn't what he was expecting either. Sherlock said the adrenaline from the case had been enough to arouse him, but now he was admitting to just being scared and confused. Normal things anyone would feel in those situations. He thought about that woman calling Sherlock a freak, wondering what she'd think about this. John wanted Sherlock writhing and panting like he had been last night, but maybe he needed to change his approach. "You know . . when we come home from cases all riled up, we don't have to just wank," he whispered. "Maybe next time, we won't even make it upstairs and I'll . . ." He bent down and pressed his lips to Sherlock's ear, twisting his hand lightly now. "I'll suck you off right against the door."

Now this was really getting confusing. What was John doing? Sherlock hadn't said anything like that. Yes, he did wank him off but he hadn't implied it'd happen again, let alone offered more. But why was this all working so well for Sherlock, why was he so ready to come? He turned his head and looked at John. "Kiss me," he said, "just once . . . to help."

John bit his lip. That would not be good at all. He started to panic a bit, feeling rather stupid for not being able to get him off. When Sherlock had been speaking -- the things he said, the sound of his voice, the way he said them -- it had all gone straight to his cock. He hadn't lasted very long. "I'm sorry," he murmured, dropping his head onto Sherlock's shoulder. He stopped talking, stopped trying to say sexy things and just focused on his hand. He sat up, brought his free hand to Sherlock's balls and tugged lightly, massaging as his hand pumped even faster, his grip harder as he moved. 

"Please, John, it's good, it's working . . . I just . . . what you said, made me think of your mouth . . . would you, just once, kiss me?" The words were just as surprising to Sherlock as they seemed to be to John, but he knew that a kiss was precisely what would push him over the edge.

John was so aroused himself that it was a bit painful the way it was trapped in his pants. He'd sort of been ignoring it before but the way Sherlock talked about his mouth -- begging to be kissed like that -- brought it right to his attention. He gave in and leaned over him again, stroking as quickly as he could as he pressed his mouth to Sherlock's, kissing him hard. 

Sherlock leaned into John's kiss. Then he pulled his head back. "Don't say anything, John," he said. He slipped a hand to John's waistband and opened the button. He grabbed John's hand from his cock and pressed it against John's erection. "You come, too," he said, and then he closed his eyes, tipped his head back and started stroking himself fast, "you come, too, John, please."

John moved Sherlock's hand away, pressed their cocks together and stroked them both. He wanted his hand to be the one that brought Sherlock to his climax -- to that lovely end. He bucked, giving them both the friction of his hand and of their cocks. He came seconds after that, moaning softly through his orgasm.

Sherlock reached up and gripped John's shirt. He kept his head back, not looking at John or what was happening, and then he came hard against John's orgasm, saying John's name. He slid his other hand over his face and let go of John's shirt, trying to catch his breath.

John bit his lip again because, if possible, Sherlock was even more beautiful when lost in the throes of passion like that. All because of him. John slowed his hand and finally stopped it, looking down at the mess they had made.

"That's not what I was expecting," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry about that." He shifted his body awkwardly, still not looking at John. "I've got to clean up," he stood up, mumbling "Thanks," before rushing to the bathroom.


	5. They Try To Go Back To Normal

Once in the bathroom, Sherlock stripped off his pajamas and got into the shower. What the fuck had just happened, he thought, as he looked into the hot water. He couldn't understand any of it. Last night had felt like a bit of drunken fun, but what just happened on the sofa, it felt different, it felt bigger. What had Sherlock been thinking, asking John to kiss him? Why had he even considered it let alone actually asked John to do it? He was embarrassed -- it was like admitting that John was right last night, that he was lonely -- he wasn't, was he? He was happy on his own, he was sure of that. But why had he wanted to be kissed and why had it made him come? He tried to turn off his head and just feel the water fall over him. 

John sat there for a good two minutes, trying to decide how he felt about all of that. So many things had happened to him all at once. He had just given his flatmate -- a near stranger -- a handjob. They had kissed into an orgasm, and at that moment John had felt better than he ever had in his life. He got himself up and went to take a shower as well, just something quick to clean up. Sherlock was a man. He wasn't attracted to men. But now? He shook his head and grabbed his coat. 

_I'm going for a walk. I won't be long. -JW_

He figured Sherlock would see a text faster than looking for any note John left. He headed for the park, just looking to clear his mind for a bit before going back. Was it really just about release? It had only happened twice and already he was too emotionally confused -- carrying on an arrangement like that would not be wise. But that kiss . . . John shook his head. Not wise at all. One of them was going to get hurt and, as Sherlock was so logical and distant, that person was probably going to be John. He was going to have to end it. It couldn't -- 

"Excuse me --"

John snapped out of his thoughts and saw a woman joining him. Had she been speaking to him?

"Sorry, it's just, when you took your hands out of your pockets you dropped this," she smiled, handing John the key to the flat. 

"Oh! Christ, thanks," he said, taking it and putting it into the inside pocket again. She lingered, smiling at him and introducing herself, pushing her hair behind her ear. _Ask her out._ John shook the thought away. That wouldn't be nice, using her to get over Sherlock. _You were never dating him_! _You like women! Ask her, she wants you to!_  And just like that the words were out of his mouth, asking her to dinner. She grinned and accepted, exchanging numbers with him before leaving. Smiling himself, he headed back to the flat to properly shower and get ready for the date. This was good. Normal. 

When he got to the flat he pulled the key out of the inside pocket and was trying it in the lock for five minutes before realising that was not his key. At first he panicked, but then he found his own key safe in his pocket. He hadn't dropped anything. He chuckled quietly and headed upstairs.  

Eventually Sherlock realised he'd have to get out of the shower. He slipped his dressing gown over him and snuck into his bedroom to get dressed. He was tempted to stay in his room but knew that'd be childish -- if all that hadn't happened, he'd have just walked around the flat normally so that's what he decided he should do. He stopped to turn on the kettle and moved to his desk. John wasn't in the sitting room anymore. He listened -- he couldn't hear him upstairs either. He picked up his phone and noticed John's text. It seemed light-hearted enough -- maybe he was just going on an errand, it didn't seem to be threatening "I'm going to find another flat because your wanking addiction has ruined my life." Sherlock relaxed a little. This would be okay. John was just his flatmate, his blogger, maybe even his friend. What happened last night and this morning, that's it, it's over with. The next case they solved, they'd have a laugh about it, but each go to their own room to wank or not to wank. That'd be their own individual business from now on.

John hung his jacket and, after a quick hello, grabbed his towel and went to take a proper shower. He shaved and fixed up his hair a bit before going upstairs to change. He put on dark jeans, a navy button up shirt and a grey vest before digging out his nice shoes. He didn't put those on yet but he brought them downstairs so he wouldn't have to look for them when it was time to go. He felt excited about the fact that he was going on a normal date, but he also felt guilty as if he was cheating on Sherlock. _Don't be ridiculous._ He took a deep breath before heading downstairs. 

Sherlock looked up from his work as John came down. It seemed normal, everything seemed normal. He took a sip of tea but it had gone cold so he got up to put the kettle on again. "So what should we do for dinner? Angelo's?" he said, getting the milk from the fridge. 

"No, I -- I can't tonight. I have a date," John said. He sat down in his chair and avoided looking over at Sherlock as he said it. 

"Oh, I didn't know," Sherlock said. "Did I know? Did you tell me? Sorry, I'll pay better attention." He poured a cup of tea. "Sorry, I didn't know," he said again. "Um, do you want tea?"

"No, it's fine. It just happened when I went out, she was at the park," John explained quickly. He checked the time. "Yeah, I'll have a cup, thanks."

Sherlock poured John a cup and brought it in to him. "I didn't know you had a date at the park," Sherlock said, "I'm sorry. You should've said something -- I hope you weren't late." 

"No, I mean I met her at the park, when I was out for my walk," John explained. "The date is tonight." He held the mug with both hands, glancing up at Sherlock and offering a smile of thanks.

"Oh," Sherlock said. He felt a bit stupid really -- he was in the shower worrying about what had happened between John and him and John was out picking up a stranger at the park? But, of course, John didn't know about that so Sherlock just tried to act normal even though he really had no idea how that should be. "What time did you say?" he looked at his watch for no reason whatsoever. "I might head out myself for a bit."

"Um, we're meeting at seven," John said. He glanced over at Sherlock. His voice sounded a bit forced. He looked down again, feeling even more guilty. But everything they had done didn't mean anything -- Sherlock had pretty much said so himself. In fact, John didn't even think Sherlock would want to again. But the kiss . . . no. He was going on a normal date. Everything would be fine. Normal. "Do you have another case or...?" 

"No," Sherlock said, "besides I wouldn't go on one without my blogger, would I?" He smiled as he fiddled with his laptop. "No, I might just go out for a walk. I think I'll stay away from the park though. Sounds rather dodgy over there. I might watch telly for a bit -- do you mind?"

"No, I don't mind," John said. "And the park isn't dodgy. Maybe you will meet someone there, too," he smiled. 

"I've already met two new people this week, John, and one tried to kill me," Sherlock said, moving to the sofa. He grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels. "I'm not particularly interested in people, new or not." He settled on some documentary in which he had no interest whatsoever, but he stared at it anyway, putting his feet up on the table.

"Well, the chances of that happening again are very slim," John pointed out. "I haven't tried to kill you." He kept his eyes on the telly, not really watching what was on. 

"Spend a little more time here, John, and you'll know that the chances of someone wanting to kill me are a bit higher than for the average person. I'm satisfied with 50-50 this week, so I think I'll leave it at that," Sherlock said. He kept watching the show, not sure what it was even about.

"Well, maybe in a couple days then when your chances are reset or whatever," he said, waving his hand vaguely. 

Sherlock looked over at John and then back at the telly. "I hope your date doesn't try to kill you. Do you think it's safe going out with someone you met loitering around a park? Let's not forget, all I did was get into a cab last night -- and someone ended up dead."

"You got into a cab with someone you knew was a killer so you can't really say it's the same. I'm pretty sure she is not a murderer so I think it'll be okay," John said. "Besides, I was loitering the park too so we can't hold that against her."

"I might have known he was a killer, but four other people got into his cab not knowing and are now dead, so just be careful," he stared at the screen. "Do you frequently loiter in the park? You probably should have mentioned that before you moved in. Park loitering is usually dodgy, John."

"I was joking, Sherlock. I just went for a walk and she was out for a walk and that's all. No one is going to die, no one is a murderer. It's going to be fine," he said. 

Sherlock looked over at John, "No one is going to die? No one is a murderer? Check with me again after a month of living here and tell me if that's still your philosophy." He dropped his legs from the table. "I think I'll go read for a bit. If I don't see you before I go, don't be too noisy when you come back tonight, if you come back tonight." He moved to the kitchen to get a glass of water first.

"We're just getting dinner. It's not going to be anything like that," he grumbled. He checked the time. "I think I am going to get going now. I'll see you later." He stood and put his mug in the sink before moving to get his jacket. 

"All right then, have a good night," Sherlock said. "Enjoy yourself. See you tomorrow." He headed off into his room. He listened to hear when John shut the door.

It felt strange all of a sudden -- the flat being empty. Which was stupid. How many nights had he spent alone in the flat -- why did it seem so different tonight? It was daft really. He curled up in his chair and picked up a book.

John stood outside of the door for a moment. That had been a very odd exchange and, for a second, he thought Sherlock was going to stop him from going. He shook his head and started off, his mind still drifting back to the flat as he walked to the park where they were meeting.

When she got there she suggested they go to Angelo's but that felt wrong to John and he declined, picking another restaurant across the park. She agreed and they went there instead. His mind still drifted to the flat. _Stop it. This is normal -- a date with a woman, not getting off your flatmate._

After getting bored by the book, Sherlock went out to the kitchen to find something to eat. He wasn't really hungry but he knew he should eat and at least it was something to do. He wanted a banana -- he knew he had bought some earlier that week, but he couldn't find one anywhere. Had John eaten them all? He reached for his phone.

_Did you eat all the bananas? SH_

John's phone vibrated as the drinks came, and he took a quick look. When he saw Sherlock's name, his heart skipped. He opened it and frowned at the question. 

"Everything okay?"

John stuffed the phone away without answering. "Yes, sorry," he smiled. They tapped glasses and sipped on their wine. She started telling him about her work and John told her about the army and being a doctor.

No answer came from John, which at first Sherlock thought was just a bit rude.He ended up finding the bananas, but that really wasn't the point. He moved over to his desk, but then started to think about John. What if something had happened to him? See, Sherlock thought, this is why he was better off on his own -- he really didn't need to be worrying about someone else. Last week he didn't even know John Watson; there was no reason for him to be worrying about him tonight.

Yet . . . Sherlock did have enemies -- perhaps this woman . . . no, that was stupid. Why was this bothering him so much? Finally his phone went and he felt a wave a relief.

_All happy families tonight at Baker Street? MH_

Mycroft. Sherlock hadn't thought of Mycroft -- he knew all about John and had already tried to interfere. Could this woman be working for Mycroft -- is that why she just happened to be in the park waiting for John? He ignored Mycroft's text and sent one to John.

_I hope you haven't been murdered. SH_

Then he regretted it immediately, so he sent another.

_I found the bananas. SH_

"I'm sorry again, just a second," John said as his phone went off twice in a row. Normally he wouldn't have bothered but with Sherlock he could honestly be running off with another murderer. He frowned lightly again. Why was he bothering John with these silly things?

"Look, if you have to go . . .," she said.

"No," John said quickly, stuffing his phone away again. "It's just my flatmate." He waved his hand and asked her about where she lived, getting her talking again. She had looked upset so he kept his eyes on her, nodding and smiling, but his mind was nowhere near what she was saying. _He's jealous._ _What other reason would he have to ask about bananas?_

"Are you listening?" the woman asked.

"Hmm?" John said, snapping back to the moment.

"I asked you if you lived near the park?" She looked properly annoyed now. John quickly started explaining about having just moved and just like that he was talking about Sherlock and their first case.

"Sorry, are you sure he's just a flatmate?"

"Yes, of course," John said, pulling a face. "Of course he is." The food came then and she focused on that. John started on his own meal and wondered if maybe he shouldn't have used the word 'amazing' so many times. 

So John was ignoring him? Childish, Sherlock thought. Then again . . . no, don't be stupid, Sherlock thought, he's not been murdered -- he's just ignoring you. Obviously, the woman -- a complete stranger he met in the park -- was more interesting to John than Sherlock's concern was. A bit hurtful, but then again Sherlock had been a complete stranger just a few days ago.

Perhaps that was John's thing: seduced by newness. Sherlock frowned. Perhaps that might be helpful on cases, but Sherlock found it a little worrying in a friend. If that's what John was. What was John to Sherlock? Maybe he'd never know -- maybe John would decide he wanted to move in with this woman now.

Sherlock stared at the webpage he was looking at. The words blurred. He picked up his phone.

_Could you please send John back to the flat? SH_

_Dr Watson is not with me, brother. MH_

_One of your associates perhaps? SH_

_What is going on, Sherlock? MH_

_Nothing. Disregard. SH_

He set his phone on the desk. It's fine, he thought. It's all fine. John was his flatmate out on a date. That's all that was happening. It was normal. 

When the dinner was over they went for another walk, heading towards the park again which was a midway point between where they each lived. John had put his hands into his pockets, but honestly he was feeling his phone. It hadn't gone off anymore and there was a small nagging feeling in his chest about it. He supposed he was a bit flattered that Sherlock missed him enough to text him, but there was also the possibility that he was just selfish and needed the attention, not liking that John was giving it elsewhere. But that didn't seem likely. He wasn't a child after all. 

"Your flatmate," she said, stopping now and crossing her arms. 

"What was that?" John asked, inwardly cringing at having to ask. Again. 

"Honestly, John, I have been talking for five minutes and you only perked up when I mentioned your flatmate!"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just . . . he's a bit eccentric so when he goes quiet for too long, something might have happened."

She narrowed her eyes, obviously thinking he was insane. "Right. Well, you can go on home and check on him. Maybe when you guys break up we can try this again," she snapped. 

"No, hold on--" She was already walking away and really, he wasn't doing much to stop her. "It's not like that!" he called after her, but she didn't look back. John sighed and started for the flat, taking his time about getting there. He couldn't decide if he was mad or not. 

Sherlock was bored again. He got up and decided that perhaps he would go out for a walk. He had nowhere to go but that didn't matter -- he had nothing to do at home either so what was the difference? He put on his coat and headed out. He decided not to think of anything. He observed people as he passed them -- he saw a lot of liars, cheaters and others who should not be trusted. 

By the time John was opening the front door he realised that he was a bit angry. Sherlock knew he was out on a date and it wasn't very nice to keep bothering him through the whole thing. He climbed up the stairs preparing his rant but was cut short when he got upstairs. Everything was off and very quiet. Sherlock was gone. John deflated a bit and hung his jacket. He stood in the middle of the sitting room feeling a bit lost for a moment before he sank down on the sofa and turned on the telly. It took about ten minutes for him to start typing out a text to Sherlock, but then he stopped because how was he going to yell at Sherlock if he did it, too? _He's not on a date, though. Is he?_ John found he didn't like that idea very much. He pushed it away along with his phone, watching the telly. 

It was useless: walking around was no more distracting than sitting at home was. Sherlock wondered which restaurant John and his date had gone to. He had walked by Angelo's just by chance and hadn't seen them there. But that would probably be rather inappropriate, showing up at the same restaurant. Of course, it was a free country -- Sherlock could eat wherever he wanted. He looked at his phone. Still no response. Had John just turned off his phone? His date must be going well. Sherlock put his phone back in his pocket. 

The more Sherlock thought about it, though, the more it irked him. Fine, the case of the missing bananas wasn't particularly urgent, but what if a proper case had come up? Forget about the flatmate business, if John was going to be his colleague -- or at least his blogger -- John's priorities needed to be clear. Sherlock took out his phone again.

_You are needed at Baker Street. New case. SH_

There -- now Sherlock would know if John's dates were more important than their work.

John had turned off the telly and gone up to bed to read when his phone went off. He couldn't believe it -- after ruining his date now Sherlock was playing this game?

_Sorry. I am busy at the moment. -JW_

Sherlock didn't need to know that he was home already. And he wasn't going to let him think that he would just come when he was called, like a pet. 

Sherlock found that a completely unacceptable response.

_The cabbie said the name Moriarty. The man sitting next to me on our sofa is named Moriarty. Could be dangerous. You are needed. SH_

Sherlock was a bit embarrassed to be stooping to such levels, but how could a date compare with the adrenaline rush John had claimed yesterday? That's what Sherlock could offer him. Was he really going to choose this woman over that? Sherlock turned and headed back to Baker Street.

_Oh, is he? Perhaps if you make him some tea he won't murder you. -JW_

John made a skeptical face at his phone even though Sherlock couldn't see him. He got up again and went down to the sofa. He almost took a picture of it to send to Sherlock, but he just sat down and wondered how long this would go on and if he could get any information out of it. 

_If you do come home at some point and the door's ajar, ring Lestrade immediately. SH_

_Of course. Don't get blood on my chair, okay? -JW_

What the hell was going on? Sherlock thought. Had he so misjudged John?

_I guess you've found someone good who must be more worth your time. I shall sort things myself. SH_

Was Sherlock actually jealous? John wondered. That couldn't be right. They weren't dating, they just . . .wanked together. John bit his lip and fell back against the sofa with a sigh.

_The time I spend with a date is not like the time I spend with you. -JW_

Sherlock didn't know what that meant. Did he mean their working together? Or . . . did he mean the other things? Oh this is ridiculous, Sherlock thought, as he unlocked the door downstairs. He didn't understand why any of this was bothering him so much. But it was. He quickly sent one last text.

_You've disappointed me, Doctor Watson. SH_

But the truth was he was more disappointed in himself. Even if it had been just a few days, Sherlock -- who saw no value in relationships, who had no interest in other people -- had already got attached to John. This was going to change everything, and all he wanted to do was get into bed and make it all go away for the rest of the night.

John stared at the message, his face flushing hot. What the hell did that mean? John threw his phone away from him and stood up, pacing to release the anger building up. He hardly knew this man and look at all the things John had done for him! Ran across half of London, texted murderers, shot a man, defended him about the drugs, and the sex! Well, sort of sex. And he goes out for one night and suddenly he's a disappointment? 

Sherlock pushed open the flat to the door. He saw John -- which made his face flush with embarrassment -- but he didn't say anything. He took off his coat and hung it up. He went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

When Sherlock didn't say anything John followed him, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "How have I disappointed you exactly?"

"I shouldn't have said that," Sherlock said, looking at the kettle. "I misjudged your interest in cases, that's all. I shouldn't have assumed a case would be more important. Please disregard that message."

"I won't disregard it. Look, going on that case with you made me feel alive again. I mean, it fixed my leg," he pointed out. "I like the cases, I like working with you, I was not lying about that."

"Okay then. That's sorted," Sherlock said. He poured his cup of tea. "I'm going to bed."

"No, it's not settled. What were you doing tonight? Not just bothering me during the date, but the lies about being in danger? Explain, please."

"I'm unable to do that, John," he said as he headed towards his bedroom.

"Don't -- don't just leave, Sherlock. Please . . ."

Sherlock stopped, but he didn't say anything. What could he say? He was uncomfortable enough having this feeling, he certainly didn't want to make John any more uncomfortable than he'd already made him.

"You're really confusing me, Sherlock. You started something physical between us after telling me you don't do relationships. I offered you an option of keeping it just physical and you didn't want that either. And then we tried once more and youasked for a kiss. And then you just . . .thanked me and left. I tried to go out and move on and you couldn't let me. You wanted me back here, made up lies to try and get me home. I mean...what is this? What do you want from me?"

"I don't know, John," Sherlock said. He was still standing outside his bedroom door, holding his tea. "I don't know why I did any of that. It all made sense at the time -- I don't have relationships, ask anyone. Last night we were drunk and riled and it just happened. This morning you seemed freaked out, but then you wanted to do it again and I just wanted things to be equal. I wanted to stop talking about it. Those bits all made sense . . . at the time." He swallowed a sip of tea. "I don't understand about the kiss and then . . . I admit I was a bit freaked out and while I'm freaking out, you're already looking for someone to hook up with for tonight. It was just all confusing, you're confusing. You're confusing me, John, and quite frankly my behaviour is strange when I know what's going on, but it's even more strange when I'm confused. Obviously. I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone from now on. Then no one will be confused."

"I wasn't freaking out this morning. I had thought about it all and I, I don't want you to leave me alone. But you were acting like nothing happened and it threw me off because I didn't want it to be nothing. And then you told me you were going to do it again and you told me you were going to leave the door open like you were inviting me back! And I wanted to, Sherlock. I did." He sighed because still Sherlock would not even look at him. "Look, it's only been two days . . .I think if I move back to my own flat we can properly pretend this never happened." He turned to leave, pausing one last time. "The only reason I agreed to go on the date was to get some normalcy back into my life because I have never been attracted to a man before, and the one time I was, you wanted to pretend it never happened. If you must know I wouldn't shut up about you and she already dumped me." He left and headed to his own room. 

Sherlock stood for a few minutes, trying to make sense of everything. He went upstairs and stood outside John's door.

"I didn't believe you this morning, John. You say now you weren't freaking out, but your face said you were. And why wouldn't you be? What happened last night was unusual -- for me at least. So I confess, even though I heard you saying words, I didn't believe them. You had talked last night about relationships -- in fact you just said you wanted it to mean something and that you went on the date for normalcy so I'm afraid you've not convinced me that our just doing that from time to time would be satisfactory to you," he said. "I left my door open because I wanted you to come in -- I do not know why, John, I don't, just like I don't know why I asked for the kiss. This is me being honest, John. I know we can't pretend any of this hasn't happened, but I do not want you to leave -- that's also me being honest. Please stay and I will do my best to behave normally -- I'll never mention masturbation again, I won't text you when you're on dates. I'll have completely appropriate expectations of you from now on. Just . . . I don't want you to leave like this." He turned and walked down to the sitting room.

"Maybe normalcy was the wrong word," John said, coming out of his room. He sighed and leaned against the stair rails. "I went on a date to see if -- I mean, I told you that I've never been attracted to a man before and I wanted to be sure that it wasn't just . . .a high from the case. It wasn't. I'm -- I want you to text me. And talk about masturbating. And expect ridiculous things from me."  

Sherlock didn't turn his head. "And what makes you think that in twenty-four hours you are certain? You are a smarter man than that, John Watson. Let's not forget that you spent a good deal of that time affected by adrenaline, wine and . . . two orgasms. Perhaps we should step away from all three of those things for a short while before either of us argues that we understand everything that's going on. Would that be wiser?"

John looked down and nodded. "Yes," he said quietly. "Of course. I am going up to bed, then. Good night, Sherlock." He turned and went up to his room, leaning against the closed door with a heavy sigh. 

Sherlock stood up and went to bed. He thought about everything that had happened. He thought about John.


	6. Things Are A Little More Normal

In the morning, Sherlock woke up and got straight into the shower. After he got dressed, he checked his email -- there was a case, not an incredibly interesting one, but a case nonetheless. He wondered if John would be interested. He went into the kitchen.

John had strange dreams that night, and even though he didn't remember them when he woke up, he felt tired and heavy. He got dressed and headed downstairs, smelling tea. "Good morning," he said and he put some bread in the toaster, leaning on the counter to wait for it. 

"Good morning," Sherlock said. "Tea?" He poured a cup for each of them. "Are you going into work today? It's just . . .there's a case."

"Oh, what's this one? Don't tell me you found Moriarty in the tub," he teased, turning to smile at him. 

"No, it's a real one. Missing man -- contacted by his brother, not wife -- so it's unlikely to be an affair-type thing. In all honesty, my gut says suicide; the brother's email says twice that the guy was in the Army and therefore would never kill himself -- I think he knows, but doesn't want to believe. Perhaps you might have a connection that'd let us find out if he was suffering from PTSD?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded, wondering if if was anyone he knew. He didn't like that thought, but now he was curious. "Yeah, alright," he agreed. He ate his toast and sipped at his tea. "When are we leaving?"

"Can you make some calls first? There's no reason to go running around. We need to find out maybe what he experienced or if he's been seeking treatment. Seeing as you are both a doctor and army, surely you could get some of that from somewhere can't you?"  
  
"Yeah, I will call around and see." John ate the last of his toast and headed up stairs, calling around to old buddies and trying to find out if anyone knew what this man was up to. After a few minutes he'd only gotten the name of a girlfriend. No one knew where to find her, but he got her name anyways. He came back out and handed the small slip of paper to Sherlock. "Kim is his girlfriend. Everyone I spoke to said that we should talk to her. I guess he didn't go out much any more -- didn't see too many people."

"A girlfriend? The brother said he had a wife. I guess he got out a bit. Let's find the girlfriend," Sherlock said. He went to the computer and did some searching. "Okay, found her," he said quickly. He picked up his phone and rang the woman's work number. Claiming to be her solicitor, Sherlock was quickly told that she'd been off work for a week. "Could I just confirm her mobile number with you?" he asked. He grabbed a pencil and some paper and then hung up.

"Okay, I'll admit it -- it's sounding less like a suicide at this point," Sherlock said. "Now, where is she?" He picked up his phone and dialled her mobile. "Kimberly Taylor?" he asked. "I've been calling at your house all week -- I've got some legal papers I need to get to you immediately. Can you tell me where you are currently and I'll have a courier bring them over?" He scribbled the address on the paper.

When he rang off, he looked at John. "People are such idiots," he said, folding the paper and sticking it in his pocket. "She's at a hotel. What I thought was a suicide is clearly a love-in. Nice work, Dr Watson." He found an empty envelope and wrote the woman's name on the front and sealed it. "Shall we head over? We can get some lunch afterwards."

"Yes," John nodded, feeling proud at having figured out something important that they could use. "Do you think that the wife found out and killed him?" he asked as he followed Sherlock out of the flat.

"Hopefully -- that'd be interesting at least," Sherlock said, "but I'm guessing he's just holed up in the hotel with the mistress." They grabbed a cab and got out at the address the woman had given over the phone. They went in, and Sherlock handed the envelope to a man behind the desk.

He pulled John to the side of the desk. A few minutes later a woman and man came out of the lift and walked over to the desk. As Sherlock's envelope was handed to the woman, Sherlock stepped out and said to the man, "Stephen Jeffries?"

"Yes?"

"Sorry, wrong person," Sherlock said, grabbing John and pulling him out the door. They walked quickly away. Sherlock looked over at John. "Not dead, not missing, just shagging," he said. "Solved. We can swing by the brother's house on the way home to pick up our fee. Let's go spend some of it on lunch."

Everything happened so quickly that John felt a bit dazed that they were already leaving. "What are we going to tell the family? We can't just tell them he was with a mistress. I mean, we could but I mean, are we?"

"We don't have to speak to the wife, just the brother. He's the one who emailed -- he's the one we deal with. His main concern is that his brother is alive; we found out he is. The brother can give the wife whatever details he wants -- that bit's got nothing to do with us," he pulled John's arm and led him into a small cafe.

"Oh, okay good," John said. "I'm glad that it wasn't suicide. I know that sort of thing is common among Army boys." John scooted to the middle of the booth of the table they were seated and and started looking through the menu.  

Sherlock scanned the menu and then set it down. He looked over and said, "You're two for two. You're useful, John Watson. Thank you for your help."

"I hardly did anything," John said. "And this one was easy . . . we hardly needed to leave the flat," he pointed out. "I don't think this one will go into the blog."

"Why not? It's a case, isn't it? Don't act like it's nothing. Without you, it would have taken much more work to find out about the girlfriend. Don't act like it's nothing, it's not," Sherlock said. "We should celebrate."

"Okay. I'll put it in the blog, then. But it wasn't as exciting as our first one," he pointed out. "Even you can admit that," he smiled. 

"Yes, I'll admit that. But not every case has to end with a death. Don't tell me that you were looking forward to shooting someone else?" he said, smiling. "I'm going to get a drink, but just one, all right?"

"I wasn't! But maybe some more chasing would have been fun," John smiled. "And you can drink whatever you like, Sherlock." John had expected to feel more awkward after having admitted to Sherlock that he was attracted to him, but it seemed Sherlock had honestly just ignored it, let it go, which seemed to have taken some pressure off of John. He liked that he could be comfortable again. The whole episode almost seemed like a dream now. 

"Surely proving me wrong must have given you a little extra high, though," Sherlock said. "You don't have to admit -- I see it in your face." He smiled. "I like it, I like that you'll be a challenge as well as a help. That's a good feature in a . . . person."

"That's not true at all," John grinned. "And I suppose I'm glad I pass your standards of being a person," he said, amused. 

"Well, I haven't totally figured you out yet, but I am prepared to acknowledge that you are in fact a person. And despite my usual aversion to persons, I seem to like you," he said.

"Well, I'm glad because it would be pretty awkward living with you if you didn't," he said, ordering his sandwich with a glass of fruit juice. 

Sherlock looked down. "I'm sorry it's been pretty awkward already. I suppose it's given you some insight into why I've been on my own for so long."

"It hasn't been awkward, exactly," John said, now looking down as well. "There have just been some . . .misunderstandings." he said. He honestly hadn't felt awkward. Just confused, hurt, and then neutral. He was supposed to be 'thinking' about it. "I'm sorry if I've made you feel awkward."

"Feelings make me feel awkward, John, you're hardly to blame for that," Sherlock said. "It's strange, isn't it -- with that first case, we understood each other. I mean, you weren't confused that night -- you just understood and acted. But then the other stuff . . . it was very confusing. I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't act or speak without thinking first, at least not when it comes to things in the flat."

"We were drunk and that always . . . loosens inhibitions," John said. "Doing it again the next day -- it was almost forced, you know? We hadn't talked about feelings at all, hadn't discussed what the night before might have meant -- we just, thought about it on our own, made assumptions and then immediately did it again. It's natural that would cause some confusion . . ."

"So you admit that yesterday morning when you said we could do it without feelings, that wasn't quite true. I knew it," Sherlock said. "Sorry -- I just like being right. And to be fair, even last night, feelings weren't really mentioned. You said attraction. I suppose I'm thinking of feelings in a different way -- I mean the kind from the heart" -- he lifted his fingers to make air quotes -- "rather than . . . other parts of the body." Somehow it seemed a little easier speaking here where they knew they'd have to be a bit more discreet.

"I wasn't lying, Sherlock. If you needed to do that, then I would have done it with you and not demanded dates or kissing or anything like that. But . . . I do admit there was a selfish desire because I was a bit confused about what I liked. But after that date? I was no longer confused and I was not lying about the things I said."  

"Being attracted to a man, especially one as clever and handsome as me, that's one thing. I could see why you'd want my texts or my . . . ridiculous talk, but what about the relationship business? I'm not clear on where you stand on that, and I suppose I think it might be wise for you to have a little more time to think before you try to answer. After all, I'm pretty sure a wise, but admittedly slightly drunk man, told me two nights ago that relationships aren't much work if you're with someone good. You kind of have to admit so far have it's been work."

"That's because you keep changing your mind on me and it's getting a bit hard to follow," John teased lightly. " _You_ asked for a kiss, Sherlock. And _you_ got jealous about my date -- and don't look at me like that because that's exactly what it was." 

"Fine -- it's because I am confused about my feelings. See? I'm not afraid to admit it. I don't know what I'm doing because I don't understand it all myself." He took a drink and then leaned over a little. "I thought I completely understood what happened the first night but I do not understand what happened yesterday morning. Any of it. That's why I left right after because . . . it was too much for me. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have, but I don't like being confused and when I'm the one confusing myself it's . . . too much." He leaned back again.

"That's all you had to tell me," he said quietly. "It seems that you're the one that has to do some thinking, and then you can tell me what you decide, okay?" 

"I'm happy to do that," Sherlock said. "Shame, though, what with our solving a case today and everything . . . I don't know about you but this lunch is quite as satisfactory in terms of 'release' if you don't mind me saying."

John bit his lip. "Did you get an adrenaline high from what we did today?" he asked. He certainly didn't but the thought of getting to wank with Sherlock again was now helping get him there. 

"Should I say my answer even if I don't completely understand what it means?" Sherlock asked. "Obviously today was not the same as the other night. It certainly wasn't as urgent or as complicated. However, I will say, your sorting it -- your getting me the answers I needed as fast as you did -- that was quite . . . exciting. I'm not sure quite what that means."

John nodded. "You should always say how you're feeling even if you don't know what it means."

"All right, look, I think we need to be more careful with our words. From here on out, 'feelings' refer to the heart stuff and 'urges' refer to the . . . other. Until things are clearer, we'll keep them separate, yeah? At this very moment, I'm clear that you've created an urge," Sherlock said. "I told you what cleverness does to me."

John stared at him. He'd called John clever before and now he was saying that cleverness turned him on. He smiled. "Thinking about you taking care of that urge has given me one," he said quietly.

"Pervert," Sherlock said, smiling. "Let's go home."

"You're the pervert," John countered, leaving money on the table and standing up.


	7. They Do It Again

Sherlock hailed a cab. He pulled out his phone and emailed the brother, explaining what they'd found out. He was greatly relieved and said he'd send payment to Baker Street tomorrow. Sherlock put his phone in his pocket. He looked out the window and said, "If we're going to do this, before everything else is clear, I think perhaps we need to tend to . . . ourselves. However, I'd really like you to . . . be there."

John looked over at him, slightly disappointed he wouldn't get to touch. But he could respect that, of course. "Okay," he agreed. "Are we going to do it on the sofa?"

"Or in my room, whichever you prefer."

"It won't be too weird if I'm in your bed, will it?"

Sherlock glanced up at the driver and then said, "No, or I wouldn't have offered."

John caught his glance and nodded. "Okay," he said.

When the cab pulled up at Baker Street, Sherlock tossed the driver some money and headed straight up the stairs. He and John went into his room and Sherlock kicked off his shoes and then got into the bed. "I've never done anything like this with someone before," he said. He watched John walk around the bed and get in. Sherlock lay on his back and said, "Just relax" both to himself and to John. Sherlock reached under the covers and undid his belt and trouser button. "Okay, yeah?"

"Okay," John confirmed. He slipped his hand and trousers to about mid thigh and he gripped his own cock, stroking lightly. "You?"

"Can we . . . talk?" Sherlock said. Again, this was something new -- he didn't know why he found their talking such a turn-on, but he did.

"Sure," John said. "I'll talk with you as long as I can. You know . . . I'm going to pretend it's your hand."

Sherlock smiled a little but tried not to show it. He thought about the first time he saw John, the day Mike came in. "Why did you come to Baker Street that first day?" he said, sliding his hand into his trousers and holding his cock.

Sherlock's hand started to move. He couldn't help it -- he thought about yesterday morning when it was John's hand. When he had admitted being scared and confused, when he had asked for a kiss. And then he thought about the kiss. He was aching already.

John stepped slowly with his words. "I really needed a place to live. But also . . . you intrigued me. Your deductions . . . and your wink." He smiled, his hand speeding up a bit.

"There was something different about you," Sherlock said. He pushed his head back a little into the pillow. There really was -- he hadn't thought about it too much initially, but the difference had been there from the start.

"I was . . . curious and I wanted to know more about . . . you," John said. He released a small grunt as he swiped over the tip of his cock.

"You were good today," Sherlock said. It was sufficiently vague. He thought about John wanting to help him and then helping him. About John not letting him down. His hand moved a little faster and he could feel the tension start in his belly.

"Those words make me feel good because . . . from what I've seen you don't often -- fuck," he mumbled, bucking into his hand lightly.

Sherlock laughed a little. "You're right, I don't often do that," he said. He didn't say anything else for a bit, just felt his hand stroking. It felt good. He couldn't help it but yesterday morning came into his mind again and he thought of wanting and getting a kiss and how that had felt good as well. His breathing increased and he could hear that it was making sounds as he exhaled but he didn't care.

John closed his eyes when there was no more talking, focusing on his hand moving on his cock. But then his mind wandered. He started to focus on Sherlock's panting breaths and he imagined he was causing those. He imagined crawling over him and grinding down on him, no hands needed. Well, they would be busy otherwise. He imagined those hands holding his hips instead, sliding up into his shirt, holding his neck and face as he thrust over and over on top of him. He whined softly, snapping his eyes open again. He was worried if he wasn't careful he would say Sherlock's name. Would that make it weird? Well, more weird anyways? He shook those thoughts and focused on Sherlock's sounds again. God, he wanted to be the cause of those sounds. 

"John?" Sherlock said. "Are we supposed to . . .  announce when we're going to . . . finish?"

"M'close," John mumbled, propping himself up on one elbow now to watch his hand moving quickly on his cock. And he may have stolen a couple glances at Sherlock's. He dropped his head down again, squeezing his eyes and pumping, mind wandering like before.

The muscles throughout Sherlock's body started to tense and his grip tightened and moved faster. "John," he said, like he was going to ask another question, but he didn't and instead his head pushed back against the pillow and his cock jerked until he felt the wetness spill over his fingers, and his muscles relaxed and he let out a long exhale. He lay still, trying to catch his breath.

At the sound of his name John paused and looked over at Sherlock, starting up again as he watched Sherlock coming apart. "Fuck," he breathed, his own release flooding through suddenly. He felt himself coming into his hand and onto his belly, his hand still stroking furiously through it all. When it was over he let his hand fall from the bed and he realised that, at some point, he had grabbed Sherlock's wrist. He let go quickly and ran that hand through his hair. 

Sherlock wasn't quite sure what to say, so for a few minutes, he said nothing. Then he said, "That was different."

John nodded. "Never done anything like that before," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to grab you -- didn't even realise . . ."

"It's fine," Sherlock said. He turned his head to look at John's face. "It's not a problem." He stretched a little. "Should we get up now or are you the type that needs a sleep after?"

John grinned at the ceiling. "Just need a few minutes, that's all," he said. He turned to look over at Sherlock. "You don't need to sleep, do you?"

"I don't need to, though I'm not averse to it; as you've probably learned already, my sleep patterns are a bit unusual," Sherlock said. "I wonder if this is going to happen after every case," he said softly, more to himself than to John.

John furrowed his brows lightly. "You would know that already, yeah? The pink woman wasn't your first case. Does it usually happen after your cases?"

"I don't mean the wanking," Sherlock said, "I mean . . . this." He pointed between the two of them.

"Oh. If it's making things difficult, I can do it in my room," John suggested.

"I haven't said that, John," Sherlock said clearly. "I'm just saying a week ago, I didn't even think that I'd have a flatmate and then I got one. And now this. I just wonder what will happen in a month. That's all I'm saying."

"I thought you meant because of the things you had to think about," John said. "Sorry."

"I suppose I do," Sherlock said. "I just mean -- I don't know what I mean. I'm just saying, I wonder about things. . . I don't know why I'm talking."

"It's okay," John smiled softly. "I don't mind you talking because it will probably help.

Sherlock shifted his body, turning a little bit away from John. "The thing about relationships, John, they're a responsibility. I'm not good with responsibility. I don't know how to . . . look after someone. I can barely look after me sometimes. I won't do the right thing and then you'll get mad or be hurt and I won't know what to do and it'll be a disaster."

John flushed at the thought of being in a proper relationship with Sherlock, but at the same time his stomach flipped happily. "I knew they are a responsibility and I'm not saying I'm going to be the best boyfriend but . . . I am willing to try," he finished quietly. 

"I know you would do your best," Sherlock said. "I would hope we both would. It's not that . . . I just don't know how to do things like that, I don't even know what I'd supposed to be doing." He hadn't turned over yet. "Let's stop talking about it."

"Alright," John agreed. For a second he almost got up, thinking about making some excuse to leave but then changed his mind. He stretched his hand a bit and almost touched Sherlock's shoulder, but then he changed his mind about that as well and curled his hands close to his own chest.

"What do you want to do this evening -- or do you have a date? I don't want to assume . . . "

"I don't have a date," John said. "We could go out -- just as friends, of course -- or we can just order something in? Maybe just watch some telly or properly type up the case of the pink lady?"

"Let's order something in," Sherlock said. "We've already been out today. Let's just have a quiet night in. Just a normal night -- no drunkeness, no shooting, just quiet and normal, yeah?"

"Okay," John agreed. "We'll just watch a movie or something and then go to bed. Normal. Dull." He grinned and hoped Sherlock could tell he was kidding. 

"Perfect," Sherlock said. "You know what? I might have a little nap. You don't have to go if you want one too . . . it's up to you. But listen to my words: it's fine for you to stay, I'm happy for you to stay. But I won't have my feelings hurt if you don't stay."

John nodded but then remembered Sherlock was facing away from him. "I think I will stay for a bit longer," he said. 

"All right then, but if you fancy knocking another one out, either be super quiet or go to your own room," Sherlock said. He turned his head over and smiled stupidly at John. Then he rolled over and said, "Talk to you in a bit" and snuggled down.

John smiled. "Talk to you in a bit," he repeated. He wasn't sleepy, but he was curious about Sherlock. When Sherlock fell asleep John moved quietly and looked over at him, using this moment to really look at him. He really was handsome -- full lips, sharp features, and that dark hair on his pale skin -- lovely. After a few minutes he crept out of the room and cleaned himself up, ate a small snack, and then crept back in. He lay down carefully and closed his eyes, not to fall asleep but to let his mind wander more easily.

He thought about his life before Sherlock, and it seemed as if that was another person completely. He kept his mind from thinking about the short time between the war and Sherlock because that was a dark time he hoped would slowly erase itself from his memories as he made new and better ones now. He shifted the focus to what they had been doing -- solving cases, working themselves up with danger and adrenaline and then coming home to wank together. It was an odd arrangement, confusing at first, but getting better. He was learning more about how Sherlock thought and it was making this all seem more normal. Sherlock was different, so their relationship -- whatever it was -- would also be different. 


	8. A New Normal

Sherlock had fallen to sleep quite easily. He dreamt that he was in a doctor's office being inspected by John. Then he and John were at the hotel where that couple were and they were sharing a room but it wasn't clear why. He turned a few times in his sleep. When he woke up, he felt all right that John was there.

John smiled at him as he was waking up and looking over at him. "Feeling better?" he asked quietly. 

"I am," Sherlock said. "I don't know why, but I find sleeping in the day usually more satisfying than night sleep." He stretched a little. "Did you sleep at all? Your face looks a bit flushed -- have you just been wanking the whole time I was asleep?" He smiled at John and sat himself up.

"No," John scoffed, moving to sit up as well. "I cleaned up and had a snack, however."

"Does this mean you don't want to order anything?" Sherlock turned on the bed and then stood up. "I can find something to eat if you don't want to."

"I just had some fruit and it's still early. I'll be fine later," John said. He stood up as well and straightened his clothes a bit.

"All right. I think I'll check my email and such first and then we can see about ordering something and choosing a movie, yeah?" Sherlock said. "Actually, I might jump in the shower first. I forgot about . . . you know." He grabbed his pajamas and dressing gown. "I don't need to be dressed for our evening in, do I? I might just put these on, if we're going to have an early night anyway."

"I will put on pajamas as well and we can have a proper night in," John smiled. "Go and do what you need to do, and I will see if there's anything on the telly first before we order a movie as well."

Sherlock got into the shower and cleaned himself off. He washed his hair and let the hot water roll down his face, relaxing him. He liked being in his pajamas when it wasn't night so he was feeling quite good by the time he got out of his shower. He went into the sitting room and sat down at this desk, but then turned to John and asked, "Did you make tea?"

"It's boiling now, shouldn't be much longer. I didn't find anything good on the telly -- what sort of movies do like?" He got up and went to the kitchen to check the kettle. 

"I don't like lots of movies . . . I suppose if I'm honest, I find it hard to stay interested for so long. I tend to like old movies better than newer ones," Sherlock said, meeting John in the kitchen.

"Hmm . . . how about the original Superman? I can run out and get it when I pick up dinner?"

"That's fine," Sherlock said, carrying his tea back to his desk. "What kind of food do you fancy?"

"Chinese is my usual choice for takeaway. Will that be fine?" John takes his tea to the sofa. He wanted to put pajamas on as well but that could wait until he go back. He sipped at his tea quickly, wanting the tea but felt like he wanted to get out and back as soon as possible.

"Chinese is good. Just fried rice for me, please," he leaned over and grabbed his wallet, which he threw at John. "I'll treat and then we can take it out of our payment tomorrow."

"I'll pay you back when I can get to an ATM, I don't have cash on me at the moment," John said. He finished his tea and grabbed his jacket. "I won't be long," he said, leaving the flat. Because he was using Sherlock's money he decided to walk, picking up the movie first so the food would still be hot when he finally got home. He was really enjoying being in the city again and more importantly he enjoyed walking properly now without hurting. _Thank you, Sherlock,_ he thought to himself, smiling as he left the restaurant. "I'm back," he called when he got upstairs, shifting the food between his hands to take his jacket off. 

Sherlock had set some plates and forks out. "I didn't know what you wanted to drink. What do you want?" he asked. "It smells good."

"As we're going for a quiet, normal night perhaps we should just stick with water," John smiled. He took the boxes out the bag and put them on the table, tossing the movie onto the sofa for later. 

"Do you want to eat while we watch the film or eat at the table and watch it afterwards?" Sherlock asked. "Do you have work in the morning? I don't want to keep you up late. I don't want to be responsible for any more of your bad habits."

"What bad habits do I have now?" John asked in mock offense. "Yes, I'll need to go in for a bit tomorrow," he added, sitting down at the table. "Let's watch the movie after." He didn't mind either way but this way he could hang out with Sherlock a bit longer before going to bed. 

"All right then," Sherlock said, sitting down at the table. He took a few bites of food. "Thanks for going out for this," he said and then watched John eat for a few minutes. "Can I ask -- are you in regular contact with your sister?"

"I . . . no," John shook his head. He mixed his food around a bit. "We hardly talk at all," he said. 

"Just curious, I don't mean to pry," Sherlock said. "You've met my brother. You know I know sibling relationships can be complicated. Were you closer to her before she started drinking -- you don't have to answer if you'd rather not talk about her."

"We were close before she moved out -- her coming out didn't go so well with my parents. But then it died down and she would come around a bit more, but it wasn't the same. By then she was drinking so we couldn't really make up for the lost time." John mixed his food around and looked up. "I don't want to talk about her anymore. Tell me about your brother and this odd relationship you have." 

"Well, you've met him. He's mentally unbalanced, and I just do my best not to interact with him unless I have to. Or if I need something, because quite frankly, he can be quite useful sometimes," Sherlock said. "Let me know if he bothers you again, that's not on. Don't be fooled bt any concern he shows. He just likes to get into my business."

John nodded. "I doubt he's going to keep bothering me. I mean, he knows I'm not a danger to you now. I hope, anyways," he smiled. 

"But if he needs something -- information about me, say -- he'll not hesitate to get in touch," Sherlock said. "Let's talk about something else. Mrs Hudson's good, isn't she?"

"Yes," John smiled. "She seems very sweet but that business with her husband . . . " He trailed off and shrugged. "I don't know. I just think she might have some wild stories."

"Don't get her started . . . it's very hard to get her stopped," Sherlock said, smiling. "She likes you, I can tell." He pushed his food around on his plate.

"That's good," John smiled. "I find it hard to believe she would dislike anyone."

"Oh, she's wicked when she dislikes someone -- you don't want to cross that woman," Sherlock said, smiling. He stood up and carried his half full plate to the sink and switched on the kettle.

John laughed softly and continued eating, putting the small amount left back into the box and into the fridge. "I'll get the movie going so we don't have to watch the previews. I'm just going to change first." Upstairs he changed his clothes for flannel pajama pants and a long sleeved t-shirt before heading back down and putting the movie on, skipping along to the actual movie. 

Sherlock slumped down on the sofa and waited for John. When he came back down, Sherlock moved over so there was room for him as well. "I brought you some water in case you want some," he said, motioning to the table.

"Thanks," John said. He pressed play and sank down beside Sherlock, shifting around and pulling his legs up more comfortably. He leaned back against the sofa as the movie started. 

Sherlock tried to focus on the movie, but as usual, he was quickly distracted. He checked his phone and then turned his attention back to the film. He turned sideways on the sofa and brought his knees up.

John watched him checking his phone and felt bad that he was bored, having picked out the movie. "Have you seen this before?"

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said. "Don't feel bad -- I'm not good at sitting still." He turned to lean on the arm of the sofa. "Do you mind if I put my feet up?" he said, resting his feet on John's lap.

John wished he would turn the other way but couldn't make himself actually ask. "That's fine," John nodded, shifting so it would be easier for Sherlock to put his feet up. 

Sherlock turned his head towards the television and watched it for a little while. Then, without looking away from the television, he said, "See John? That was quite selfish of me, don't you think? I'm being rude about a movie you chose and now I'm hogging the sofa while you're trying to watch it. It's not very relationship-worthy, is it?"

John rolled his eyes and couldn't help smiling. "You're allowed to not like the same movies at me, just like I will never like the fact that we have human eyes in the microwave," he said. "And hogging the sofa wouldn't be a problem if you maybe gave me your head instead of your dirty feet," he added. 

Sherlock laughed. "Oh my god, are you that kind of boyfriend -- one with an answer for everything? Hmm . . . being a smart arse is not the same as being clever, you know?" Nonetheless, he sat up a bit so that his feet were no longer on John's lap. He pulled a face at John and then smiled. 

"I have an answer to silly problems," he teased. "What you see as sofa-hogging I see as cuddle time. And that might be dull in your book but yes, I am that kind of boyfriend. Or I would be, anyways."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to look at the telly. "I imagine I'm more meet-my-needs-but-don't-bother-me-with-yours kind of boyfriend, I'm afraid," he said quietly.

"I don't think so," John disagreed. "When we met you hardly ate, and now because I eat regularly you do as well -- or at least make sure we pause so I can eat something. And I needed to 'debrief' after the cases we've done and you helped me with that instead of sending me away. Give yourself some credit," he said, keeping his eyes on the telly. A week ago he didn't even know this man and now he was giving a proper fight to convince him to date John. He looked down at his lap as he thought about that, marveling at how things had changed so quickly.  

"Hmm -- so you're the type who manipulates situations to put a 'positive' spin on them? That's . . . obnoxious," Sherlock said.

"I'm just pointing out facts, Sherlock. If you're feeding me for some selfish reason then please tell what it is because I'm a bit slow. And if the wanking is also entirely selfish than I will do it in my room from now on and not impose on you," he said. "I know that you find this sort of thing hard, that you've never done it before and who knows -- someone might have told you that you'd be shit at it so you don't want to try it. But given what you do for a living, I think you should put a little more faith in the facts I'm giving you instead of whatever nerves you might be feeling." He looked down and wrung his fingers because he didn't know where all of that came from. "Sorry," he mumbled quickly, looking back up at the film as if that was going to erase it all.  

"Don't be," Sherlock said quietly. "It's the first reasonable thing you've said since we've been on this sofa." He looked over and smiled softly. "And stop bringing up the wanking, like it's part of the problem. This afternoon was fine, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was fine. But you have to admit that it's got to mean _something_. I mean, friends don't just wank together," he said. 

"Some do," Sherlock said. "Don't they?" He swallowed. "Look, I told you I've never done that with anyone else so obviously it means something. Okay? Obviously. I'm just trying to understand what, that's all."

"That's the first time I have ever done that with someone else as well," John said. "Please don't be angry with me. I'm sorry I keep bringing it up. I am also trying to understand and I can't on my own -- I just want to talk it over so I am not assuming things."

"I'm not angry, Doctor Watson," Sherlock said, sliding his feet down to press against John's legs. "I'm talking, aren't I? Let's just say my talking about feelings with someone else is about as unusual as my wanking with someone else. And I'm doing both with you, aren't I? So relax your face, all right?" He pressed his feet into John and turned to look back at the television. "Who is this Clark Kent anyway?" he asked.

"Again with the feet," John sighed dramatically, but he smiled and rest his hand over Sherlock's ankles. "He's the main character. Just watch the movie," he said, turning back to the telly.

"I thought Superman was the main character?" Sherlock asked, smiling to himself.

John looked over skeptically, raising his brows. "Shhh, just watch." He turned back to the telly putting his feet up on the table.

"You're so changeable -- first you demand we talk, now you're telling me to be quiet. Are you being treated for a mood disorder? You should have mentioned this, if not before you moved in, certainly before you started trying to convince me to be your boyfriend," Sherlock said, giving John's leg a little kick. 

"I'll talk all you want, but I won't spoil the movie," he said, pinching Sherlock's shin.

"John, I do live in contemporary times, you know, I do know who Clark Kent is, I was only teasing," Sherlock said. "And even if I didn't, did you forget my job is to figure things out? By the way, I should warn you -- I do like to spoil movies so perhaps we should only watch ones you've seen before; otherwise, I will probably ruin the experience for you and now that you know that in advance, you'll be in no position to complain." 

"I must have left a really bad impression on you if the only things I'm good at is being a smart arse and complaining all the time," John grinned.

"And wanking, you're good at wanking, don't forget," Sherlock said, smiling and snuggling a bit more into the sofa.

John grinned. "Oh yeah -- my best feature."

Sherlock managed to sit quietly for the rest of the film. Then he turned over on his back and looked down at John. "What now? Are you going to bed or are you going to work on the blog?" 

"Let's work on the blog. I don't type very quickly but you can help me with the technical stuff and I will fill the rest in later." He got up and grabbed his laptop, coming back over to the sofa again. He opened up the blog and started typing. 

Sherlock sat up on the sofa and ran his fingers through his hair, giving himself a little shake to help him focus. "What have you got so far?"

John read the couple paragraphs he had about meeting Sherlock, the vague texting, chasing the cab, and coming home to the drugs bust. He started typing again, mumbling his words as he added how Sherlock discovered the password and how they tracked the phone. He continued about Sherlock's leaving, about taking the phone himself and going into the college building. "Your turn," he said to Sherlock. "What happened in there?"

"He explained that he held them at gunpoint and they were told to choose a pill and always chose wrong," Sherlock said. "And then you shot him." He glanced over at John. "I don't think you should mention the Moriarty thing."

John shook his head. "I won't mention that. Or my shooting him. That is going to be a mysterious stranger that came at just the right time." He went back to typing, fingers moving slowly over that keys as he added what Sherlock had told him. Then he went through and dressed it up a bit, made it flow a bit better from start to finish. It seemed to take forever but finally he posted it and turned the computer to Sherlock. "All done," he smiled.  

Sherlock read it over. "Hmm . . . I suppose, given your audience, it's all right. It kind of reads a bit like a romantic adventure but I can't tell if I'm supposed to be Prince Charming or the ogre." He passed the computer back to John. "It's fine, it's factually accurate. It's your blog -- do it however you want."

"People are going to get into this easier than straight facts. They're going to be amazed and they'll want to hire you," John said.

"All right then," Sherlock said. "I trust you." He took a drink of water. "Just don't get your hopes up about readers. I've had my website up for a while and people don't read it that often. Don't forget you're competing with pornography and pictures of kittens -- there are a lot of websites out there. I don't want you to feel let down."

John raised his brows. "Sorry, Sherlock, but your website identifies 200 some types different tobacco ash -- if anyone's website isn't getting read it's yours," he teased.

"Hurtful," Sherlock said. "It's not just yours v. mine. I'm just saying don't get too excited. Not everyone is going to find all of this as intriguing as you." He stood up from the sofa and stretched.

"I was only teasing," he said. "And it doesn't matter if they don't. I'm supposed to write about what happens to me so that's what I'm going to do. Off to bed?"

"I think so," Sherlock said, picking up the glass and taking a final drink. "What time do you leave for work tomorrow?"

"Nine," John said, petting the laptop down and settling back against the sofa. "I might watch the news and I'll be off as well."

"All right then, I'm sure I'll see you in the morning," Sherlock said. He headed into his room and got into bed. He looked over the newspapers on his phone and got an email confirmation from Stephen Jeffries' brother that their fee would be dropped off to Baker Street tomorrow. He turned off the lamp and turned over in the bed. He remembered when John was lying there earlier.

John only stayed a half hour more before turning off the telly and going to bed himself. His mind was wandering over the conversation on the sofa and he fell asleep thinking about it, having dreams about trying to talk to Sherlock through a thick glass. He showered in the morning, trying to figure out what that meant, and then left for work without breakfast.


	9. Sherlock Had Been Right

Sherlock woke up but the flat was quiet. He got up and listened for John in the shower, but heard nothing. He noticed John's door was open but there was no movement inside, so he guessed John had gone off to work already. He moved to the kitchen to turn on the kettle and heard his phone go, expecting it to be from John. It wasn't. Lestrade was calling.

"There's been another suicide. Could you have been wrong, Sherlock? Could it still be going on?" he said.

"Of course, I wasn't wrong. There are suicides everyday, I'm sure it's coincidental," Sherlock said, pouring his tea.

"I wouldn't mind you coming round -- just in case the press hears, I might need to make a statement," Lestrade asked. "Anderson's not here."  
  
"Fine, give me a few minutes," Sherlock said. "Where are you?" He wrote down the address which seemed familiar to him. When he headed off, he realised it was the hotel he and John had been at yesterday.

Sherlock headed up and he immediately recognised the dead man. "Stephen Jeffries," he said aloud.

"How'd you know?" Lestrade said. "Oh Christ, Sherlock, don't tell me you're somehow involved."  
  
Sherlock looked up. "His brother hired me, us. He'd gone missing and I thought it might be a suicide, but John found a girlfriend and we spotted them both alive and well here yesterday so we assumed it was just an affair. I guess I was right after all."  
  
"You must be pleased about that," Lestrade said sarcastically.

Sherlock hadn't heard; he was staring intently at the dead man's face.

"Staff said the girlfriend left a couple hours ago," Lestrade added. "We checked, she's at her work as normal -- we haven't told her anything yet. Could she be a suspect?"

"He was army, so he'd be responsible, despite the adultery. I'm guessing he'd leave a note -- did you find one?" Sherlock asked.

Lestrade handed him a paper. It had a list of contact details, account numbers, the kind of important information that would be needed after a death, the kind of responsible thing a military man might do. Sherlock looked down at the body. "Suicide is my call, but this isn't my case. I thought I solved mine, but I hadn't. Speak to the girlfriend, my guess is she'll have seen signs," Sherlock said, taking off quickly.

When Sherlock got back to the flat, Mrs Hudson was waiting for him. "An envelope came for you," she said, handing it to him as he headed upstairs. Inside, he sat at the table, looking at the envelope before him. It was from the brother, undoubtedly payment for yesterday's news. It made him feel a bit sick to his stomach -- not because he'd be wrong, he was surprised to realise he didn't care about that in the slightest, but because he'd unintentionally got the man's hopes up, especially when it had been so clear to Sherlock that the brother had suspected suicide

And then he thought of John -- John who had said he would have been upset if it had been suicide, John who was also army, who was also traumatised. Having to tell John made him feel sick as well.

He sat there, not knowing what to do, for a while until his phone went. It was Lestrade.

"Seems you were right, the girlfriend basically admitted he was suicidal and she'd spent the last week trying to snap him out of it. Devastated. As the wife'll be as well, I assume. The coroner will make it official but it seems to be a normal suicide, completely unrelated to last week's. We'll send someone to speak to the wife. Do you want to notify the brother?" Lestrade said.

"No," Sherlock said. "You do it. Obviously we'll return his payment." Sherlock knew that previously he'd have had no problem talking to the brother, but he really couldn't face it today. When he hung up, he sat, staring at the envelope but seeing John's face.

The surgery was busy. John was seeing a stream of patients and didn't get a chance to breath until lunch. He went to a nearby deli and got himself a sandwich and some crisps. He wanted to chat with Sherlock but didn't know what to start with. He went with something lame and obvious, hiding his phone to wait.

_Good morning. -JW_

Sherlock looked at his phone. He didn't know quite how to deal with this yet, but he didn't want to do anything until he had a plan.

_Morning. Your day going okay? When will you be back? SH_

_Very busy. Yours? -JW_

_Fine. What time will you be back? SH_

_Around four. Are you alright? -JW_

He wondered why Sherlock was being so insistent.

_Yes. Just curious. I'll wait to eat until you get home. SH_

Sherlock now had a few hours to figure out the best way to deal with this.

_There's leftovers.Did you want something else? -JW_

_No. All's fine. I'll see you around four. SH_

_Okay. JW_

John finished his lunch and headed back early so that he could get out early later. He was tired by the time three came around and he was very happy to see the last patient off. He took a cab straight home, ready to get some food and relax.

Sherlock tidied the flat a bit -- why, he didn't know, but it seemed like a good idea. He sent a quick email to the Jeffries' brother with his condolences and a commitment to return the cheque. He wasn't totally comfortable with it, but didn't really know what else to do.

He decided he'd just explain this morning right when John got home; saving it for later might make it more dramatic (and him more anxious about it), perhaps it wouldn't bother John that much anyway. As John had said, he knew this kind of thing sometimes happened. He got the kettle boiled and waited for John's return.

John came into the flat with a sigh and hung his coat, going straight to the refrigerator for his food. "Looks nice in here," John said as he sat down on the sofa to eat.

"Thanks.Want me to heat that up?" Sherlock asked. "Tea's done, I'll bring you a cup."

"No, this is fine," John said, already half way done. "And thanks, tea sounds good."

Sherlock brought in two mugs and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. "Something unusual happened this morning," he said, taking a sip of the too hot tea.

"Oh? What is it?" John asked, looking over at him.

"Lestrade called about another suicide. He was worried it might be related to the whole cabbie thing. But it wasn't," Sherlock said, taking another sip of tea. "It was Stephen Jeffries. The man from yesterday."

John blinked at him. "The army man, from yesterday? But . . . we saw him. He was with that woman." He put his food down on the table and picked up his tea. He had a wife and a mistress. John knew it could be hard -- he himself had needed a couple months to leave his flat and socialise -- but he seemed to be doing better than John was. He'd been back for much longer than John.

"It looks like that was his last hoorah, so to speak," Sherlock said. "He did it after the girlfriend left for work. Lestrade's taking care of notifying the family." He swallowed. "I'm sorry, John."

"Why?" John asked, coming out of his mind and trying to sound casual. "It's not your fault. Like I said these things . . . well, they happen." He picked up his food and mixed it determinedly but didn't take another bite.

"Obviously, but I mean . . . it's a little odd, that's all I meant, I guess," Sherlock said awkwardly. He drank some more tea. He looked over at John and said, "Everything okay?"

"Hmm? Of course," he said quickly, putting a forkful of food into his mouth to prove it. He regretted it at once but forced himself to chew it and swallow. _If Jeffries couldn't make it, what makes you think you can? But I already am doing it._ He was arguing with himself, trying to push away the dark voice that had plagued him at his old flat. It hasn't been too long ago he'd been thinking along the same lines. "Um . . . I assume we'll return the money, then. I'm selfishly glad we don't have to tell him," he continued, trying to work on his tea now.

"Of course, I'll return the cheque tomorrow," Sherlock said. He didn't know what else to say, so just to fill up the silence, he asked, "Are we going to watch a movie again tonight?"

John wanted to say yes but that stupid voice was being very obnoxious in his head. "Um . . . I didn't pick up another one," he said, sipping at his tea. _That man had two people who loved him and couldn't stay happy._ John put the mug down and squeezed his temples. He'd felt alive running after that cab, shooting that criminal, saving Sherlock's life, he assured himself. He was not useless. He was not sad.

"Right. No problem -- we can see what's on the telly. Or perhaps go out for a walk if you're not too tired," Sherlock leaned over and picked up the remote and began flicking through the channels. "Tell me if you see anything you like."

"You can pick this time," John said, leaning back against the sofa and pulling his legs up as well. He had nothing to do with that man. Everyone reacted differently. Everyone dealt with their experience differently. Maybe worse things had happened to that man that hadn't happened to John. But he looked good -- no missing limbs, no visible scars. John had a scar. John had been shot. Watched his friends die and was unable to help them. What could have happened to this man to want to escape like that? _Don't pretend you don't know. You wanted the same thing once._ John sighed and tried to ignore that. It wasn't like that anymore. _That was just a week ago._ John set his jaw and hugged his knees, focusing on the passing channels. 

Sherlock stopped on an old movie, even though he wasn't sure which one it was. He quickly looked at John. He seemed to have forgotten that Sherlock was excellent at reading people. John had said that everything was okay, but clearly it wasn't. The problem, though, was that Sherlock had no idea what to do about it. He could really only thing of things logically. Maybe John said things were okay because he didn't want to talk about. Maybe it was because he himself yet wasn't aware that there was a problem. Either of these options meant that if Sherlock pushed the issue, it would just upset John. He didn't want to upset John; that was the last thing he wanted to do. So he didn't say anything else for a while.

Eventually he said, "This film's called [**_Charade_**](http://youtu.be/NMkeqjacvAU). It's one of my favourites." He glanced over at John.

"Oh," John nodded. "I have never seen it before." He kept his eyes on the telly and was reluctant to admit he had no idea what was going on in the movie. He was watching but couldn't focus, trying to squash the arguments breaking out in his head. He felt like a crazy person. Everything had been just fine before this news and he knew it should be just fine after it as well. He thought about the blog -- the place he was supposed to be writing all of these things -- but now that it had the case on it it would seem silly to put this as the next entry. He glanced over at Sherlock and considered talking to him about it, but he immediately shot that down. How did you tell someone you had just met you used to have suicidal thoughts? _You wanked together and have talked about dating. Wouldn't you tell him then?_ No, because that was in the past. It _was_ in the past. 

This really was one of Sherlock's favourite films, but he wasn't enjoying it. Things were going on in John's head and it was almost like Sherlock could hear the noise, though not the specifics. So John must know that he wasn't okay. But he still hadn't said anything -- should Sherlock or would that just make things worse? God, Sherlock thought, I am so bad at this.

"Do you want to say anything?" he finally said, still looking at the television.

Thinking that Sherlock meant about the film, John quickly focused and nodded. "It's good, Sherlock." He still didn't know what was happening in the movie and felt embarrassed that he couldn't at least name a scene he liked. "I'm sorry . . . my brain is a bit fried from work and I am having trouble concentrating on the film," he admitted. "I think I might go to bed."

"Um . . . okay," Sherlock said. What should I do? he wondered. Should I stop him? It just didn't seem right -- when Sherlock went inside his head, he didn't really want to be interrupted. "Do you need anything?" he asked, which seemed like an all right thing to ask.

"Oh, no," John shook his head, taking his things into the kitchen and even washing them quickly. "No. I just need a good sleep, that's all. I'm sorry about the movie -- we can rent that one when I'm not so tired," he smiled. He bid Sherlock good night and went upstairs, shutting the door behind him. It was going to be a bad night, he knew that already. He climbed into bed and hoped he wouldn't shout too loudly. He closed his eyes, wanting to get to sleep quickly, wanting to just get it over with already. 


	10. Feelings

John drifted off a while later, the voices arguing in his head the whole time he dozed off. And then they started -- he was in the car like he always was, turning to laugh at something someone had said. And then the explosion happened and people were screaming, the sounds almost drowned out my the bullets flying through the air. They were being attacked -- raided -- and John couldn't move. His feet were stuck like lead and he was trying to drag his way to his friends, to heal wounds, to help in any way. He felt a burning in his shoulder and he watched the blood spill onto his side and yet he still couldn't move. He felt himself getting weaker, failing. The gun shots became louder, more frequent. The screams were more painful, calling for him to help . . .

John woke up very suddenly with a sharp intake of breath, his cheeks already wet and his eyes only flooding even more as he became fully conscious. The images flashed in the dark, and he felt like he could still hear the guns going off. He pressed his palms into his eyes and tried to calm down. _You wanked over the victory of finding that man and now he's dead._ The thought made John sick and he felt his stomach twist violently. _I bet he's sleeping so peacefully. No dreams, no nightmares. It would be so easy._ He moved his hands and looked at the drawer where he kept his gun, shaking his head. No. He wasn't stuck in that little dark flat anymore. He had a job. A friend. Adventures.   

Sherlock had gone to bed himself. He read for a while and then lay there, trying not to think of anything but not really succeeding. His brain felt distracted and suddenly he realised -- he could still hear all the noise in John's head. He picked up his phone. 

_Shall I come to your room now? SH_

John looked at the message and thought about how nice it would be to just think about something simple like whether to have a wank or not. 

_I don't want to do that tonight. Sorry. -JW_

_Not for that. Just because. SH_

John stared at the message. Just because. Company would surely be helpful right now, if only to stop him from getting up to get his gun. 

_Okay. -JW_

He wiped his eyes quickly and hoped they weren't too puffy. He wondered if it was dark enough to hide. 

Sherlock stood up from bed and slipped on his dressing gown. He stopped to get a glass of water for John and walked up to his bedroom. He knocked lightly and then pushed the door open. He walked round and put the water on John's nightstand and then got up on the bed to sit next to him. "Are you having trouble sleeping?" he asked.

"A bit," John admitted.

Sherlock slipped his hand to John's and stroked his fingers over it. "I will listen if you want or I could just . . . be here."

John leaned over and rested his head on his shoulder, just holding his hand for a long time. Then he finally said, "I used to think about that as well." He hoped Sherlock knew what he meant because he didn't want to have to say it. He felt embarrassed and ashamed about it -- he knew it was weak and cowardly and he was very glad for the darkness. 

"A lot of people do," Sherlock said softly. "But you haven't done it."

"It was just a week ago, the last time. I sat at my desk and . . .it was in the drawer . . . The first time I slept without nightmares was when we chased the cab." 

"We can't be doing that every night," Sherlock said. "Perhaps you could find something slightly less extreme to help you through the bad times. It's understandable there are bad times, John."

"I know we can't. I mean, I didn't have nightmares after that night. Tonight was the first time since I moved in with you," he admitted. 

"Interesting," Sherlock said. "Perhaps it's just that you're not alone. I can stay in the room tonight . . . I mean, if you want." He slid down a little on the bed.  
  
John nodded, laying down with him and curling close. He kept his head on Sherlock's shoulder and continued holding his hand. "Don't think badly of me, okay?" he mumbled. "The nightmares . . . they were just getting too much. I'm sorry."

"John," Sherlock said softly and then didn't say anymore. He stroked John's hand with his fingers and turned his head towards him, resting his chin on John's hair.

"You made me better," John mumbled very, very quietly. He knew he'd regret saying that, putting that pressure on Sherlock, but it had slipped out before he could stop it. He closed his eyes and this time, he didn't see the images of his nightmare.

Sherlock moved his mouth to John's ear and whispered, "I gave you the chance to make yourself better." He slid his hand from John's and put it around him instead, holding him gently. He rested his head back on the pillow.

John squeezed his eyes shut tighter and didn't say anything else after that. It wasn't long before he fell asleep again, pressed into Sherlock. Things had changed so very drastically in such a short amount of time and he wondered, just as he dozed away, what this was going to mean in the morning.

Sherlock sensed a change in John's breathing which he knew meant John had fallen asleep. His arm was actually quite uncomfortable so he gently pulled it out from under John. He wouldn't leave, though; he wanted to be here in case John dreamt, in case John needed him. He closed his own eyes and went to sleep. 

John didn't have another nightmare that night and when he woke up he was a bit disoriented, trying to remember why Sherlock was there. And then he did, very suddenly, and he flushed with embarrassment. He shifted very carefully and looked over at Sherlock sleeping beside him. He was embarrassed, of course, but he couldn't deny that it had been extremely comforting having him here -- especially since he was the one that saved him. _Helped you save yourself._ He smiled softly at the words and knew that was much more accurate. Sherlock had offered him a flat in the city, offered to tag along on a case, offered adventure. And John had taken those chances and he had made himself better. With that single thought all of his confused feelings about everything else vanished. The fact that he had feelings for Sherlock had nothing to do with him being a man or a woman. They went so much deeper than that and he couldn't deny how good Sherlock made him feel. He continued to watch him, hardly breathing so he wouldn't be disturbed. 

When Sherlock opened his eyes, he saw John looking at him. He made a little smile and then rubbed his eyes. "You slept through the rest of the night," he said, his voice still quite sleepy, "does that mean no more nightmares?" He stretched himself a little in John's bed.

John nodded. "Sorry I was staring," he said, but he didn't look away from him. 

"I'm glad . . . I mean, that you slept well," Sherlock said. "I'm . . . okay with the staring." He smiled and then asked, "Are you going into work today?"

John shook his head. "I'll call Sarah and tell her something came up. I'll go tomorrow," he said. "I feel a bit . . . I just want to stay home today."

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Are we getting up or staying here a bit longer?"

John looked up at him, his eyes moving over Sherlock's face and then between his eyes. "Let's stay just a bit longer," he said, trying to read his face, to read what Sherlock was thinking. 

"Good choice," Sherlock slid back down flat on the bed. "I think your bed's more comfortable than mine. Or at least your sheets are." He rubbed the sheet between his fingers. "I feel like I slept well." It flashed in Sherlock's mind that perhaps this wasn't normal, that this wasn't really what friends do -- stay in bed together. But it was what he wanted to do. 

John smiled. "Yours was alright," he teased. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, pulling the covers up a bit more.

Sherlock stared up at the ceiling as well. "I'm glad I've met you, John Watson," he said.

John flushed lightly and nodded. "I'm glad I met you, too." His words from last night hung in the silence. 

"So is that it then?" Sherlock said.

"I am glad," John repeated, thinking that's what he meant.

"No, I mean . . . are we boyfriends now?" Sherlock continued looking up at the ceiling.

"Oh," John said quietly. "Do you want that, Sherlock? I'm sorry if what I said last night was too much. You can still think about it."

"I think I'm done thinking about it," Sherlock said.

John turned onto his side, facing him. "I want to be your boyfriend," he said quietly, unable to help smiling stupidly. 

"All right, then, I guess you can be since you asked so nicely," Sherlock said smiling. "I bet you never thought I was such a romantic, eh?"

John grinned wider. "I'm positively swooning," he teased.  

"Well, you can't complain now. Anything that's bothering you . . . save it for the couples counselling,' Sherlock said. He turned over to face John now.

"Counselling already? They'll write books about this love," he laughed.  

"Just as long as you don't write a blog about it, I'm fine," Sherlock answered.

"I won't write about this in the blog," John promised. "This is our personal stuff."

"Good," Sherlock said. "What present are you going to buy me today? Isn't that what boyfriends are for -- buying presents? Surely, there's got to be some benefit to being someone's boyfriend," he teased.

"What about the benefit of kisses whenever you like? And wanking sessions? And cuddling?" John grinned.

"Um . . . we did all those before I was your boyfriend. No extra benefits now that I've made it official?"

"So you just want presents?" John asked, grinning at him.   

"No, I don't just want presents," Sherlock said. "But I do want presents." 

"Okay. I will buy you whatever you like," John said. "New mug for your tea? A new magnifying glass? Flowers? Candy?"

"Um . . . presents are supposed to be surprises, aren't they?" Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

"Not always, but I'll need some time because those were all of my ideas," John said seriously. 

"Oh my god, John, we've been in a relationship for five minutes and already you've let me down," Sherlock said. He rolled over dramatically as if he were crying.

"Seeing as we were in counselling two minutes into the relationship you were a fool to expect otherwise," John said. 

"How can you be so cruel when I'm heartbroken? You are pretty much the worst boyfriend I have ever had."

John smiled over at him and opened his mouth to reply, but then he just closed it again, smiling more genuinely. "Will you kiss me?" he asked.  

"Yes, I will," Sherlock said.

John waited a second for him to turn, petting his hair when he didn't. "Maybe it would be easier if you turned back this way," he smiled. 

"I think it probably would," Sherlock said, without turning around.

John continued petting his hair, wondering what he was doing. Did he think John was still teasing? "Sherlock?" he asked tentatively. 

Sherlock rolled over. "I can be obnoxious like this, John," Sherlock said. "Now's your last chance to back out."

"Stop testing me," John said, scooting closer. "So far you have only been terrible to me when you're trying to prove me wrong."

"I like proving people wrong, John," Sherlock said, "even boyfriends." Before John could answer, Sherlock leaned in and kissed him, sliding his arms around John's back and pulling him closer. He pressed hard against John's mouth.

For a moment John was too surprised to kiss back, but then he brought his hand to Sherlock's cheek and kissed back, savoring the moment. It was nice to kiss him properly. 

Sherlock pulled back from the kiss and looked at John. "Okay?" he asked tentatively.

"Very much," John nodded. He gazed at him, his thumb stroking Sherlock's jawbone. 

Sherlock leaned and kissed John's mouth again, nipping softly at his bottom lip.

John let his mouth fall open a bit, his hand sliding back into Sherlock's hair. They had already done things so much more intimate than this and yet he felt that same warmth just kissing him. Sherlock certainly had an effect on him. 

Sherlock slipped his tongue between John's lips, cradling John's head in his hands. He tipped his own head a little and moved further into the kiss.

John hummed softly, his own tongue exploring as the kiss deepened. His hands roamed more freely, resting on Sherlock's shoulder, sliding down his side, resting in the dip if his waist, and then back to his lower back to tug him closer. 

Sherlock pressed his hips to John's, moving his hands from John's face to his waist. He held tight and then slipped his fingers under the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

John broke the kiss and looked down, shifting a bit before coming up to kiss him again. "Would it be easier if I took them off?" he murmured between kisses.  

"I imagine it probably would. Would you like to?" Sherlock said.

"Yeah," John nodded. "I really would. You as well," he said. He pushed his own pajamas down and then tugged at Sherlock's.

Sherlock slipped off his pajamas and lifted his t-shirt over his head. He reached to help John with his and then slid closer to him. "You sure you're okay with this?" he asked.

John nodded. "I'm sure. Are you?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, leaning in and kissing him again.

John shifted and moved closer, slowly climbing on top of Sherlock, kissing him harder.

Sherlock slipped his hands to John's lower back. He moved his mouth to John's neck and kissed there, sucking and nipping at the skin.

John started rolling his hips, tilting his head back for Sherlock. After a few minutes he shifted and kissed Sherlock's mouth, dragging his lips along his jaw to his neck, kissing and sucking softly.

"This is good, John," Sherlock said, turning his head slightly to allow John to continue. "This is nice."

John hummed against his skin, nipping softly as he moved to the collar bone, tracing kisses to the hollow in the middle and grazing his teeth there as well. He moved lower, kissing to Sherlock's nipple before flicking his tongue over it and blowing cool air. He grinned as it rose and hardened. 

Sherlock lowered his hands to John's hips and pressed them into him, lifting his own against John. He let out a little moan as their cocks touched. John's skin was hot against Sherlock's. His hands moved up and down John's back, touching everywhere they could. 

John moaned softly bucking into Sherlock for a few minutes before he squirmed lower, kissing his way down Sherlock's belly. "Is this okay?" he asked quietly, kissing down to his hip.

"Yes, it's good. Is it okay with you -- it's a lot of new things all at once -- tell me if you want us to stop, it's okay," Sherlock said. "But it feels good."

John nodded. "You took such good care of me," he said, moving inwards now, kissing his groin. "I want to take care of you now." He licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock, right up to the tip.

"I didn't do it for that," Sherlock said before stopping and inhaling sharply at John's mouth. "God, John, that's nice."

"I know you didn't," he murmured, licking another stripe up the right side. "But it was so nice . . ." And another lick up the left side. 

Sherlock glanced down at John and smiled. "You're nice to look at," he said softly. He moved one hand to touch John's hair softly. "Stop if you want, but I like it very much."

John smiled up at him and, holding his gaze, John sucked Sherlock into his mouth. He bobbed slowly, swirling his tongue along the bottom.

"God," Sherlock called out, tipping his head back a bit. It'd been a long time since Sherlock had experienced anything like this. He moaned softly, trying to focus on his breath and the fantastic feeling John was giving him.

John looked down when the eye contact broke and he focused on what Sherlock felt like in his mouth, on how much more he could take in, careful not to choke. He hummed softly, hollowing his cheeks as he moved.

John's mouth was wet and warm and felt soft around Sherlock's cock. He rocked his hips just a bit, feeling John's body between his legs, which he moved apart a little.

John pulled off for a moment to suck on his fingers for a bit before taking his cock again. He used his wet fingers to massage Sherlock's balls, tugging lightly as he did.

Sherlock let out a little moan. He looked up at the ceiling and softly said, "For someone who's never done this before, you're doing it quite well."

John smiled around him but didn't pull away to answer. He was simply mimicking what he liked, surprised he wasn't mucking it up.

Sherlock let his mind go for a few minutes, just concrentrating on John's mouth. When he started to feel he was getting close, he said, "John, you might need to stop . . ."

John looked up at him and pulled off slowly, his hand taking over. "Is that what you really want? I don't mind finishing you . . ."

"Maybe you could use your hand, I'd like to . . . kiss more," Sherlock said softly.

John smiled. "Okay." He crawled up, lay over Sherlock and gripped him a bit tighter. He swiped his thumb over the tip and pressed his mouth to Sherlock's, immediately opening his lips to make it deeper.

Sherlock lifted his head up into John's kiss, meeting his mouth hungrily and pressing his tongue in to find John's. His hands went to John's back, gripping his skin. He let his hips rock and he thrust into John's hand. "God, John," he moaned, "you are . . . it's good."

John smiled, pecking kisses up his jaw to his ear. "You look so lovely when you come," he murmured against his ear. "Let me see, please . . . come for me." He sped up his hand and lifted his head to watch Sherlock's face.

Sherlock let himself go -- his body moving against John -- and the tension filled him and he let that go as well and came into John's hand. His head fell back and his eyes closed and he said John's name over and over until his body stilled.

"Gorgeous," John murmured against his cheek, stroking him through his orgasm before laying beside him.

"Shut up," Sherlock, smiling and panting softly. "Move over," he pushed John to the side of him. "Give me a second and I'll help with that," he said, motioning to John's erection.

John grinned and nodded, grazing his own fingers over it just for something to do, moving lightly so he wouldn't over excite himself.

Sherlock took a deep breath and sat up a bit. He turned to face John and then leaned down to kiss him. As he did, he slid his hand softly -- just barely trailing his fingertips -- down the center of John's chest and then belly and then wrapped his fingers around John's hard cock. He held for a moment and, as he deepened the kiss, he began to stroke it steadily, smearing the dampness around it, as his speed increased.

"Oh Christ," John moaned, immediately bucking into his hand. He was so hard already that it was almost painful. "Won't last long . . ." he groaned.

Sherlock kept kissing John, nipping John's lower lip and then pushing his tongue into John's mouth. It was like he couldn't get enough kissing, like all of a sudden, kissing was his favourite thing in the world. He pumped John's cock. "Make my hand wet, John," he said in between kisses. 

John whimpered as he felt -- on cue -- his cock leaking. Sherlock's hand moved more easily, faster, and suddenly John was arching off of the bed. He called out for Sherlock, writhing as he rode out his orgasm. He dropped onto the bed again when it was over, panting softly to catch his breath. 

Sherlock held John through his orgasm and then lay back on the bed next to him. "Now that was sexy," he said, smiling.

John chuckled breathlessly. "Yes it was," John agreed. He turned on his side and grinned at Sherlock, watching him happily.

"We're an interesting partnership, John Watson," Sherlock said, wiping his hand on the sheet and then holding John's hand.

John nodded. "Yes we are," he smiled. 

"And now," Sherlock said, "everything seems to make sense."


End file.
